Burned
by brittnw15
Summary: He hated that he agreed to this marriage. Ramsay hated her. Her face disgusted him. Her body disgusted him. Her beautiful screams were worse of all. He wanted to hate her, abuse her in the worse way, all because he didn't find her disgusting at all. In fact he enjoyed her. And that, was truly revolting. *Smut will be involved in later chapters*
1. Chapter 1

I know no one likes ocs, but I got this idea stuck in my head. Skip to chapter two if you wish to get to a Ramsay POV sooner. He'll have more and longer ones as the story progresses.

* * *

Luciya sat in front of the large fireplace in the great hall, watching the flames rise and the wood crack. It could be quite mesmerizing. She often times wanted to reach out and touch it, to feel the flames. But she was well beyond the years of a foolish child. She was the eldest daughter of House Blackthorn. And as such, she had to compose herself as a lady. They were a minor house, but she would still be a lady one day. Best not to forget herself. She stood, straighten her skirts, and began adding another log to the fire.

"My lord we need the Starks help-"

"Need nothing. We no longer serve the Starks. The Boltons are the wardens of the North now."

Startled, Luciya turned to see her father enter along with his castellan Aryck. They were arguing, as was usual now a days. Since the beginning of the war those two had not seemed to agree on anything. And it was only getting worse. Times were harsh for everyone, but they were growing darker for the Blackthorns. They were close to an all-out war with another house. And if she was being completely honest with herself, she didn't know if their house would still be standing if it came down to that.

"This is a conversation for my office. Not where the small folk can hear." He father gritted the last part through his teeth. He had slowly started coming unhinged in the last months. She was honestly worried for him.

"Father, is there anything I could do to help? You're rather tense." Hearing that he stopped in his tracks and turned towards her. He must not even have realized she was there.

"No. no I'll ask enough of you in due time.", he smiled sadly. "Just…make sure your brothers are getting along." With that he turned away, likely heading towards his office. He seemed distracted, more distracted than usual. Something was wrong. Maybe she could question him at dinner.

She took a step outside into the brisk air. It had gotten colder as well over the months. Now, making sure her brother were getting along was a task within itself. She needn't worry herself with Braydon, as the oldest of the siblings he was training to be lord. He was more than likely training in the court yard. The youngest was a young baby girl, Gwen, not much trouble she could get into. Her two younger brothers, Tarviss and Damian, on the other hand…well, if they weren't arguing with each other they were creating mischief together.

The yard was filled with people, all going about doing their duties. She could hear the clash of steel from the soldiers and guards as they trained. The servants and small folk scurried about fixing buildings, carrying supplies. And she could smell the bread from the ovens in the kitchen. It was sad to think that this could all be taken away, if not by war then by winter, if they didn't get help soon.

But there was no need in worrying with that quite yet. She had her brothers to find. Gods help her.

* * *

Lucyia looked down the long dinner table, eyeing the two boys in front of her. Her brothers had scrapes and scratches from head to toe. She had found them climbing the weirwood tree of all things! She had given them such a berating. Now it seems as though they were mad, blaming each other for the others misfortune. They barely said a word, just poked at their venison, and occasionally each other. In fact, the whole table was quiet. Though that was possibly a reaction from father's tense mood. Now was as good a time to ask as any.

"Father is something troubling you? You aren't acting well." That question was probably a bit presumptuous but she needed to know. She couldn't have her family falling apart at a time like this.

He let out a long sigh as he put his fork down, rubbing his forehead with the other hand. "Earlier today, I received news that may help us."

"Oh Corren, that's lovely news." Her mother clasped her hand over his. Her slight, smooth hand was a stark difference from his large and rough one. Her father was a stout and burly man. Her mother was tall and delicate. To look upon, they were an odd match. But their love was always evident. "Why all this fretting then?"

He looked from her mother and then down to her. His face was solemn and it was making her anxious. "I wrote to Lord Bolton for help. As the warden of the north it would be his duty."

"And he agreed to aid us" her mother smiled.

"Not quite" her father continued. "Times are troubling. He said he'd need something in return. I offered Lucyia's hand."

So that was it. She was to be married off. This had always been expected of her. The idea of being married to Roose Bolton was not a pleasant one but she was sure she could manage. In time they may grow fond of one another. And this would make her part of a major house. The amount of help that could bring her family was far more important to her.

"Corren, Roose Bolton is recently married. To Walda Frey I believe." Her mother added.

"I know. That's why I offered her to Ramsay"

No no no no no no no. Seven hells! She chided herself on cursing later.

"The bastard?!" her mother's voice raised to a volume Lucyia had not heard from her in a long time.

"He is legitimized now Martha! It would do you good to remember that. Gods help us if you say that in front of him."

Lucyia could feel herself shaking, she just knew the color had drained from her face. How could father do this? Didn't he know what that man was like? Oh her stomach was in knots. It wasn't bad enough that the Bolton's flayed and torture people, it was said that Ramsay fully enjoyed it. The things he did to women he laid with was immoral. The thought was revolting. To be married to some monster…..it might as well be a death sentence.

"She won't do it" her mother protested. "I'm not sending my daughter to that..that..thing!"

"Calm yourself." he reached for her mother's hand but she quickly pulled away. "Nothing's final yet. They want Lucyia to travel to their keep so Ramsay can spend time with her. Should he approve, only then would they be wed."

And with that her mother was truly outraged. Her brow furrowed and her lips sneered together in a tight line. "Oh! So, they have to judge if she's good enough for that demon of a-"

"Father, really is this necessary I'm sure-" Braydon started and then everyone started talking at once. Mother was yelling at father. Braydon was trying come up with another plan. Aryck was trying to reason with mother. And Tarviss and Damien began yelling, for no other reason than because they could apparently.

Lucyia's head was swimming. She couldn't even discern her own thoughts through all this noise. Though, it was reassuring to know others in her family liked this plan as little as she did.

One of the few things she could make out through all the noise was Braydon saying "-hear he hunts women with his dogs-" And that was enough to send her father over the edge.

"Enough!" he shouted with the slam of a fist. The room quickly grew quite though no one looked pleased. "The only words I want to hear are from Lucyia." He turned his head towards her, with a look of hope mixed with sadness. "I know this is a lot to ask of you. I know the stories you've heard. But please consider this. For the House. For your family."

And that's what it all came down to. What she was willing to do to protect her people, protect her family. She looked back at her father, at a face that had shown her nothing but love growing up. She could remember a time when that face was always smiling and making others smile as well. That comparison to now was grim. She had never seen Ramsay, but if he looked anything like his father the thought was chilling. They were a very stern, very vengeful looking people. What was she supposed to do if, no when he hit her. She had heard he liked whores. Maybe he'd just stick to those. Visit her a few times and be bored of her.

Everyone was looking at her for an answer. They expected something. She straighten the braid in her hair hanging near her face, more to settle her own nerves then to approve appearances. She looked back at the grim faces, the concerned evident on all of them. She knew her answer and she delivered it as best she could. She smiled, the brightest smile she could manage in the moment, "I would be happy to serve our house."

Her father let out a breath she didn't know he'd been holding. Brayden muttered something under his breath that she couldn't manage to make out, arms folded tightly across his chest. And her mother….her poor mother. It was all Lucyia could do not to cry. It would do them no good if both of them were crying. The water was welling up in the older woman's eyes as she gave Lucyia a small smile, "You've always been such a good girl" she managed to get out half broken between small sobs. But no quicker than that had the smile faded. She looked at her hands, apparently no longer wanting to look her husband in the eye. Shaking her head the whole time she threatened "I swear Corren, if he lays one hand on her I'll-I'll never forgive you."


	2. Chapter 2

"My lord! PLEASE!" the man begged. But his pleas went unheard. With another crack, the whip slashed across his back. "Ah" the man fumbled to the ground.

"Something wrong with your legs?" Ramsay quipped. "I-the beatings my lord. I can't stand," he wimpered. Ramsay snorted. "I don't recall your legs having a problem when you stole from the kitchens. But when I try to teach you such a valuable lesson, they seem to fail" He leaned down, looking the man in the face. He was dirty, most likely poor and hungry. But young enough to know how to stand! "Frankly, I'm offended."

"I-I'm sorry my lord" he stuttered and shook, but still no standing.

"Stand" Ramsay commanded. The man attempted to push himself upward. As his back stretched, the striped wounds across his back opened wider, blood flooding anew. There was nothing but a few strips of skin left at this point. He fell back forward, landing on his elbows. Pathetic. There was worse pain then this. The peasant should be grateful. Ramsay took his glove off, baring his hand to the cold, and promptly stuck it in one of the gaping wounds. The man let out a painful yell. "I said stand," he hissed, digging his finger further in. The man's howls became even louder. But now he was flat on the ground. It was an amusing sight to behold, but he had other matters to attend to. He removed his finger and forcibly pulled the man up by the neck.

"Guards!," he called. In a moment there was a half dozen by his side. He tossed the man at the closet one. "See that our friend has a nice _walk_ to the cells," he grinned. "I would _so_ hate for him to lose one from disuse." Upon hearing the thinly veiled threat the man whimpered, but went forward with the guards.

* * *

The men were loading up their trunks on the horses as Lucyia wrung her hands. No, that wasn't ladylike. She quickly pulled them to her side. Any little offense could be enough reason for the Boltons to reject her. The early morning air was piercing through her dress; she wrapped her woolen cloak tighter around her. They were to leave soon; taking a few days to get there. Maybe if the Gods were good the Boltons would be gone. Off to help in a battle or settle a dispute. Something. Anything.

"Lucyia" she heard her mother's soft voice call. She turned to see the woman coming out the main door, Tarviss and Damien following behind. "Your brothers wanted to tell you goodbye."

"Bye Lulu" Tarviss wrapped his arms around her. She gladly returned the gesture. "You two behave yourself now" She said, holding her arm out for Damien to join. "Don't get eaten by dogs. We wouldn't like that." Damien added. She felt her heart stop and drop into her stomach, but let out a small laugh. No need in them thinking she was frightened.

"Damien!" her mother chided. "Don't spread such rumors. It isn't polite."

"But Braydon said-" "Never mind Braydon. He's in a foul mood."

That's when Lucyia realized he wasn't there. He hadn't come to see her off yet and they were leaving any minute. "I thought he'd be here" she admitted a bit disappointed.

Her mother simply shook her head. "He's pouting like a child. You'll have to forgive him dear." Her older brother had always been the stubborn one; he loved to sulk when he didn't get his way.

"Well I'm just sorry to leave you alone with all these boys and the amount of trouble they get themselves into" she laughed, attempted to lighten the situation. It must have worked because her mother did smile. "Don't act like you were an innocent child. The stress you caused me", the older woman let out a laugh. "Sneaking out to the river, you almost drowned. Twice. And I believe you're the reason we have a newer barn. How you managed to burn it down in the first place is beyond me." There was probably a much longer list her mother had stored away. Lucyia had done her best to forget most of those. "And it took us forever to get you to stop pricking yourself with your stitching needle. You claimed you liked the way it felt." That one Lucyia did remember clearly. She'd prick each of her fingers, intrigued by the needle and the strange sensation it brought to her fingers. "Moving out" she could hear a guard yell. It was time.

Her mother wrapped her in a hug. "Be just as fearless as you were then, okay?" All Lucyia could do was nod. But her mother took her by the chin, with a deathly serious look, "If that bastard hurts you kill him in his sleep" She had never heard such talk from her mother. Her kind demeanor was being chipped away by fear. "I'm sure it won't come to that," she reassured. Lucyia turned to leave but quickly added, "But thank you"

* * *

Their horses trotted ever closer towards the door of the keep. They were still several yards from the main door but the dread was growing ever present in her stomach. It would be a blessing if she was able to keep down her breakfast. She'd taken great pains with her appearance that morning. She picked out her red and grey dress, embroidered with a swirling pattern around the edges. Her dark brown hair was pinned just so to the side and she had added a bit of color to her cheeks. Hopefully her appearance was enough to garner his attention, but not too much attention. If she just smiled, nodded her head, and say what he wants to hear she should be fine. At least that's what she kept telling herself. Maybe Ramsay Snow-no Bolton, she mentally chided herself. He was a Bolton. She'd have to watch her tongue. The reigns shook in her trembling hands. Taking in a deep breath she attempted to calm herself. Shaking would do her no good. Show no fear.

They arrived at the door too quickly for her liking. Turning to move from her horse, she saw her father's hand outstretched to help her down. She gratefully took it, not knowing if she would have been able to do so without falling in her current state. He looped her arm through his and guided her up the stairs. Her eyes stayed fixed on the door looming in front of her. The moments before they opened felt like years. Just as they were beginning to creak open, she felt a quick kiss on the top of her head. She looked up to see her father smiling back down at her. "Remember our words."

"Rooted and Strong" they repeated together with a smile. And so they entered arm in arm, her head held high.

"Lord Bolton" her father called out, bowing before the man seated in the lords chair. She quickly followed suit. Roose Bolton was an average looking man, save for the menacing glances.

"Blackthorn. Welcome.", was his dry greeting. His gaze quickly landed on her. "This must be your daughter."

"Yes, my lord" her father indicated for her to step forward. She obeyed. "This is Lucyia, my eldest daughter." She curtsied another time, bowing her head for if nothing else then to escape his gaze for a moment. A curt nod was his only answer. "My son Ramsay" he waved forward. From the side of his chair stepped a man, tall and broad with bushy hair and a thin beard. He stared straight at her with blue eyes that seemed to pierce her very soul, as though he were looking something. Perhaps a weakness or fear. It felt as though ice had entered her chest and her heart had to beat faster to get it to thaw.

"My lady" he leaned forward, as he bowed he took her hand and placed a kiss on it, never breaking eye contact. His lips curled into almost a cruel grin and then he looked away back towards his father. He must have found what he was looking for.

"Well she is quite pretty isn't she father" he laughed with that same grin. It made her stomach queasy but not in the same way it had felt moments before. She couldn't quite place her finger on it.

"Aye, she'd make a decent enough bride." That was supposed to be a compliment she assumed.

"And where is your bride Lord Bolton? I had looked forward to meeting her." Her father asked, ever courteous.

"Her rooms. She seems to have fallen ill with a fever. She should be well in a few days time. Thank you for asking." He rose from his chair as he began to give his servants a command, "Show them to their rooms. They must be tired."

"Thank you my lord" her father bowed once more. Lucyia turned to follow the tall thin woman who had appeared in front of her. The woman avoided looking at her and kept her head down, "This way my lady." As she began to walk down the hallway, she felt that icy feeling again. As she turned back, she saw those blue eyes following her again. The smile was back as well. He gave her a wave, as though he was an excited child, eyes full of mischievous glee. She gave a small wave back, slightly confused. He seemed to like her so far. Hopefully that was a good thing.

* * *

Ramsay had taken stock of his possibly soon to be bride. She was pretty enough, long dark brown hair, green eyes, a round face. Yes, she'd do in the looks area. But the real issue, was she sturdy enough? He'd gotten a good enough look at her as they had walked in. She was shorter in stature but by no means fragile. Her hips were wide but not large, her frame sturdy but not fat. She'd probably be able to withstand a night with him, possibly two. At the very least, she had a body able enough to produce children. Hmm…but his thoughts were interrupted from going further by his father.

"By no means do you bring a whore into your bed whilst we have guest" he commanded, giving him a sharp look.

Ramsay laughed, "Of course not Father. I would never dream of it." He bowed deeply, if not mockingly. "Now if you'll excuse me dear father, I've a wife to court." He let out another sharp laugh as he turned. If nothing else, terrifying the girl should be fun. He could almost smell it on her.


	3. Chapter 3

I plan to update every Tuesday or Wednesday. We'll see how that goes. Anywho, yay for longer Ramsay POV! Enjoy.

* * *

Ramsay came to what he knew to be the young woman's door. He knew she wouldn't expect him to be calling on her so soon. They had just gotten here. But he wanted her impressions completely off guard. She had been a nervous wreck in the great hall; that much he could tell. She hadn't spoken a single word, though that was a desirable trait in a good wife.

He threw the door open. He wouldn't knock in his own home. She stood off to the side of the room, removing what appeared to be clothing. Apparently hard of hearing, she had no idea of his presence. So, he stood and watched. She moved with a sense of grace and purpose, taking each dress and folding them over her bed until she reached the bottom of the trunk. In those moments, he thought about taking her soft waist and forcing her over the bed. If he was to marry her he should at least get a taste, right? To know what he was getting. But he was likely just to get an angry talk from his lord father. And she probably wasn't worth that boredom. She had just pulled out a book when her eyes caught him. "Oh!" she let out a gasp, the book falling to the floor. Her face reddened, flustered, as she reached down to pick it up. "Forgive me, Lord Ramsay. I didn't see you," she curtsied, her eyes remaining fixed on the floor.

"So you can speak!" he clasped his hands. "And here I thought you were a mute."

"No-no my lord," she stuttered. "I meant no offense."

"Well offense was taken" he placed his hand to his chest in mock insult. "You'll have to make it up to me with a walk." He offered his arm out. She hesitated, ever so slightly. "Well, come along then." She was quicker that time, wrapping her arm through his. "Yes, my lord."

He led her outside, through a breezeway rounding the whole keep. "Do you sing, Lady Lucyia?" He saw her eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. She had no idea to what he was referring. "I'm afraid not, my lord" "A pity" As his eyes darted about; across the field, to the battlements, to her, he noticed she kept her eyes forward, looking nowhere else.

"If I didn't know better I would say you were frightened of me," he dared her to lie and say otherwise. He had yet to meet a woman who wasn't.

"Of course not-" and there it was. The horrible little lie off her pretty little lips. Now if there was one thing he couldn't stand it was a liar. And to do it straight to his face?! The gall! He put his fingers underneath her chin and jerked her head up. She let out a small pained yelp. "I quite detest lying, Lady Lucyia," he smirked. "Would you like to try again?"

She was looking straight at him now, her eyes locked on his. He could see it, the fear deep down in the grass of her green eyes. "I apologize. You do frighten me." Having his answer, he let her go. He could hear the sounds of his dogs barking in the close distance as they continued.

"I imagine you have heard quite terrible stories about me, haven't you?"

"I've heard many yes." Ah, honesty. At least she was quick to learn.

"Well, don't you worry yourself," he assured her, patting the arm he held. "Most of them are true," he continued quickly. He felt her arm tighten just slightly. _Oh this was amusing!_ "Now tell me; what's the worst one you've heard?"

"I've heard so many, my lord," she quipped. He laughed. Such bravery from such a small girl who only a moment ago admitted her fear. Not that she needed to admit it though. It was quite obvious.

"My brother was quite insistent you used your hunting dogs on women," she declared forthright.

"And yet, he still let you come," he continued to lead her forward. "Sounds like a horrible brother."

She let out a soft sigh, "I assure you, if it was up to him I would still be at home."

"And who was it up to?" he prodded. She stopped and looked towards him, willingly for the first time, as if trying to read his face. As if the answer was obvious. "Me"

He let out a sharp laugh. "You willingly traveled to the scary Boltons?" he mocked. She held her head defiantly, "I would willingly do anything for my family." He traced her jaw line with his thumb, his hand resting beneath her chin. Her breath caught in her throat again. By the Gods if she did that every time he touched her she was going to suffocate herself. Holding her gaze, he smirked "I'll remember that." _Anything,_ she said. He could make use of anything.

And here they were. He attempted to move forward, but the lady holding his arm kept him back. She had frozen in her spot. Her expression blank as she stared fixated on the kennel. His glee must have been evident on his face, because she quickly steeled hers and moved forward.

"They are fine hunting dogs, my lord" she finally spoke, her hands entwined in front of her. No, his bitches were excellent hunting dogs. He pointed off towards the woods, "They've yet to lose a woman in there," he arrogantly sneered. Now her eyes hung on the woods line, looking for someone to prove him wrong. He unlaced her hands she held so tightly together and took one in his. "Are you scared?" He couldn't keep the grin off his face.

She turned her body towards him, angling her head up. "No, my lord. I am not scared." She had defiance screaming in her eyes. That was going to have to be quickly broken. But for right now it was humorous. For a moment, he wasn't sure it was there. The fear. A pity for the game to be over so soon. But with a quick flicker, he found it. She hid it better this time, but it was still there.

"Ah, my lady" he sighed, pressing his thumb hard into her palm, "You almost convinced me that time." She startled at the pressure and attempted to pull her hand away. "None of that now. Come along." He led her back inside to her bedchambers. He'd done enough for now, but perhaps he'd enjoy his lady's company tomorrow as well.

* * *

Every day went on this way for Lucyia. Ramsay would come for her in the late afternoon and they'd walk. He did most of the talking to begin with, asking her questions, telling her horrible stories she had once thought to be mere rumors. But as their walks continued she slowly found courage to converse with him. Nothing she said seemed to directly displease him, except for when she lied. He could tell and he didn't like it. A lie always earned her a pinch or hard press to where his hand may have been at the moment. Though, in all honestly they merely startled her. She didn't mind the pressure, but she was sure they were meant to be a threat to something else. She had made him laugh a few times, but he could have very well have been laughing at her. Her smiles were easier to force now, and once it didn't feel forced at all.

They had been in the gardens. She had been admiring the roses, few were growing in this weather, when Ramsay commented that he found the thorns more interesting than the flower. He then reached down to pick one and handed it to her. As she accepted it, the thorns brushed her thumb. It pricked it, causing a small tear in the skin. The sensation captivated her. She lost herself as she stared at the small pool of blood forming on her finger. She went to place her next finger on the thorn when Ramsay took her hand. Her eyes followed the flower as it fell to the ground, but they quickly turned back to him as she felt his lips. He had placed her thumb into his mouth, sucking as he bit the back of it. She could feel her face flush as she let out a soft murmur. His lips twisted upward as his blue eyes found her. It was then she noticed that they weren't ice at all; but a fire that burned so hot that the flames had turned blue. And for a moment, just as she did with every other fire, she wished to reach out and be burned. He was looking at her in such a lustful way. She found that she was smiling back at him. This wasn't proper at all, but oh was it nice. He removed her thumb, dropping her hand, and walking her back to her chambers. But she couldn't quite get the smile to fade.

Today had been no different. They had come to the end of their walk, her bedchambers. As she opened the door Ramsay followed her in, shutting it behind him. _Oh Gods, he's going to rape me._ She sat in the chair she had pulled in front of the fireplace. Her trembling was less noticeable when she sat. Before she could ask what he expected of her, he was pulling something from his pocket.

"My lady, I'm at a disadvantage." She could see the items were two small boxes. He dragged the end table over to her chair. Placing the boxes side by side, he opened them both. "I had these made for you but I didn't know which would please you. Which one do you prefer?"

She was a bit taken aback. She had never expected a gift to come from this man who often bragged about disemboweling his enemies. They were both actually quite beautiful. One was her house sigil, on a delicate chain. The other was the Bolton's sigil, the flayed man but it was more of a pink X. But there was something on it. With a closer look she noticed it was a vine of thorns.

"Which would please you more to see on me?" No sooner had she begun to speak had he started undoing the Bolton necklace and placing it on her neck. He stood behind her, a hand holding each end. "That's not what I asked." She felt the chain grow tighter around her neck as Ramsay pulled on it. This was supposed to be a punishment. But she strangely found that she liked it. The feeling of the chain digging and scraping against her skin was somehow pleasing. Before she could stop herself she breathed, "I quite like the way this one's chain feels." No, that was wrong. Gods forgive her, enjoying that was not okay.

"Lucyia," she felt him breathe against her neck. "Are you flirting with me?" His voice was full of amusement and she was too ashamed to answer.

"I asked you a question" He growled, pulling the chain tighter and despite herself she let out a moan. "Yes Lord Ramsay. I was." Then all movement stopped. Had she upset him in some way? After another moment she felt him clasp the necklace, letting it hang appropriately. And then she felt his hand in her hair. He tugged on it roughly, bringing her head around to where she could see him. He searched her face with a look of confusion, uncertainty. His eyes combed her over, but found nothing. He was looking for a lie she hadn't spoken. He let her go and walked out without another word.


	4. Chapter 4

Just to emphasize this point, I have not seen Ramsay in the show. This is mostly based off the book. Enjoy!

* * *

Lucyia was curled in her chair reading. It was quite cold that day. In fact she was surprised it hadn't started snowing yet. Her walk with Ramsay had left her chilled. So, she sat as close to the fire as she dared. She wasn't that far along in her book when she heard a knock at the door. Her father entered a moment later. His visit wasn't a surprise; he did this every several days.

"Father," she greeted pleasantly. The greeting was returned with a small smile. He tried for serval minutes to talk about the weather, but she knew what he truly wanted. He wanted to make sure she was okay; that she hadn't been harmed. The first few times he had asked her directly, but he must have not believed her when she claimed otherwise. Now instead, he just tried to talk, hoping she'd let something slip. But there was nothing to slip. She hadn't been harmed or mistreated. Thinly threatened from time to time, but Ramsay was actually kind to her-in his own way. Father went on so awkwardly, these were nothing like the conversations they would have at home.

"I'm fine, Father" she finally interrupted. The man was going to worry himself sick. "He's not so horrible, truly" Her father just shook his head to that. "One gift doesn't make him a good man" he said in reference to her necklace she still wore around her neck. All she could do was laugh. Ramsay Bolton was many things, but a good man he was not. "Definitely not," she agreed. Her laughter and answer seemed to have thoroughly confused him. Clarifying, she added, "But neither is he a _complete_ monster. I can bare it."

"I'm sorry. I know you're stronger than I give you credit for." He let out a long exasperated sigh, "I should know better than to listen to others' stories. But you're my daughter and I…" he trailed off as he placed a hand to her face, giving her a warm smile. "I know father" She placed her hand on his for a moment, before standing. He had his rights to worry. She was his daughter; it was in his nature. And Ramsay himself had told her most of the stories were true.

"Would you care to walk to dinner?" The older man snorted, "Maybe if we're lucky we'll get something besides hard sausage" She laughed with him. The tension was finally starting to fade from his shoulders.

"Lady Bolton" Lucyia exclaimed as she took a seat next to the woman. Lucyia looked about the table and noticed Ramsay was absent. It wasn't the first time. "It's so nice to see you out and about," she continued. The heavy set woman giggled, "Thank you dear. It's nice to be out." Lady Walda patted her arm with a grin as she turned back to her plate. Lucyia actually didn't mind her company. She was a rather loud and giggly person, but it certainly helped the dreary atmosphere here. She had visited the lady in her rooms a few times after her sickness had passed. She had still been too weak to make it much further than down the hall, and they managed to grow something akin to friendship.

The lady Bolton preceded to tell her stories of a cousin of hers who had managed to get himself absolutely drunk. "As most men do" the lady added with another giggle. Her father seemed to be having his own conversation with Lord Bolton; battle plans or something of the like.

"Lady Lucyia," a guard called as he approached the table. She turned and noticed he was one of Ramsay's men. He had a group of four soldiers whom he conversed with quite often. She supposed he considered them friends, though she couldn't see him using the word. The one before her was Heath, with greasy blond hair and a grim face.

"Lord Ramsay demands your attention in the cells when your food is finished." The cells? What could he possibly want with her there? She heard her father huff at the word demand. Her plate was mostly empty at this point, so she pushed it forward. "If I may be excused Lord Bolton" He waved her off without much care and she preceded to follow Heath.

When they reached the bottom of the staircase, they turned into a large room. The smell instantly hit her and she thought she might retch. She could see Ramsay's back turned to something, but she couldn't see pass him. But she could hear whimpers and groans coming from somewhere. The bloodstains on the floor were unsettling.

Ramsay turned, a psychotic gleam in his eyes. "Lucyia!," he cried ecstatically. _Gods!_ When he turned he revealed the man behind him, strung out on a board, hands strapped above him. Blood ran down the man's chest…and well everywhere else really. There were chunks of flesh gone; he was missing an ear, and his jaw appeared to be broken. It was not a pleasant sight, but she stilled herself, folding her hands in front of her. He waved her forward and she obediently moved. "Lord Ramsay," she greeted as cheerfully as she could manage. She noticed blood smeared across his hands, most likely due to the bloody knife he was holding.

"What's House Bolton's words?" he asked her.

"Our blades are sharp," she answered. He grinned, "Indeed they are" He turned back towards the man, slicing another cut just below his collar bone. The man wailed in response. Though she willed herself not to, she grimaced.

"My lady, does this disturb you?" he menaced, teasing her as he drew the blade lightly over the man's chin, earning a whimper. Don't lie. Don't ever lie. "Yes"

His expression turned dark. "Then turn away" he gritted through his teeth. "No" She held her head high. He raised an eyebrow to her, and for a moment she feared he meant to hit her. "If I mean to be you're wife then I must be use to this." She quickly turned her gaze straight forward towards the man, looking over his every injury. But even though she couldn't see Ramsay's face she could feel that cruel, delighted grin. "Good girl" He patted her cheek, smudges of blood rubbing off. But she ignored it.

* * *

The woman stood by his side as he made cut after cut, hours flying by. "What's your name?" He knew he had asked the man that before. But he didn't much care to remember it. "M-matthew, my lord." "Ol' Matty, my friend. I believe your screams are upsetting my betrothed." He traced the knife around the man's mouth, contemplating whether to cut out his tongue or not. "I'm-I'm sorry. Please" he whined.

"Let him scream, my lord" came the sound of Lucyia's voice. He felt the smirk grow across his face. "If it pleases you," she quickly added. "Why?" he demanded to know. What was she trying to get at? "His screams distress me. Maybe if I continue to listen that will cease," she answered blankly. He chuckled and pulled the knife away from Matty's mouth. "You are a demented little lady aren't you?" he teased, stroking her cheek. There was a slight curve to her lip as she spoke, "Only to match you, my lord." He smirked to that. She was trying to appease him he knew; but he did like the effort.

"You know whose tongue I'd really like to rip out?"

"hmm?"

"Walda's" That woman's incessant jabbering drove him near mad. That, and she was a fucking Frey. He didn't care who they were loyal to, they were all bloody useless and he didn't trust a one of them. And their women were ugly too. He hated the Freys almost as much as the Starks and their fucking inability to kneel.

"I quite like her actually" The girl was getting brave, voicing her own opinion. Eh, he'd let her have it for now. With an eye roll he turned back to Matty, looking for a new spot. But he stopped himself. He had thought of something more fun. Holding the handle out he said, "Why don't you have a go?"

Tentatively, she took it. "I've…I've never cut a man," she hesitated. "You'll do fine," he grinned. "Just choose a spot. Any spot." He watched as she moved closer to Matty, knife outstretched. She placed it near his stomach. There wasn't much skin left there so she moved up. Then to his arm. Her hand shaking the whole time. She'd be lucky to break skin holding the knife like that. He came behind her, placing his hand over top of hers. "I'll hold it, but I won't move it for you," he breathed in her ear. She straightened herself then, standing a bit taller. She ran the knife up his collar bone, before resting it on his neck. That wasn't the best place to begin, but she'd learn. She sliced it across his neck, blood quickly spurted and gushed out. It sprayed across them and Lucyia quickly shut her eyes to shield them. Matty quickly bled out. _What a waste._

He brought Lucyia's face up, cupping it with his hands. She slowly opened her eyes, wiping the blood from them. _That's it. Let me see that horror washing through you._ Blood covered her face as he was sure it covered his. They must have looked horrendous. If only he could have seen it himself. Her mouth started to twitch and for a moment he thought she was about to cry. But what happened next truly shocked him. She giggled and he found it contagious. Soon, he was howling with laughter. "I seemed to have killed him, my lord. I do apologize." He brushed it off. "I'll just have to teach you how to do it properly." He looked at her a moment. The blood framed her face beautifully and there was something in her eyes; but he couldn't tell what it was. A gleam of something just behind that green. And he wasn't sure it was fear. He pulled her towards him and forcefully kissed her, tasting the blood on her lips. She didn't hesitate in returning. She wasn't half bad at it. After several long moments, he pulled back, looking into her face again. "I do believe I'll have to keep you" And he sincerely meant that.


	5. Chapter 5 (Smut Warning)

***Warning: This chapter contains sexual assault followed by smut***

 **Please forgive me. This is the first time I have ever written smut. Hopefully, it turned out all right. Enjoy!**

* * *

Lucyia sat at the dinner table between her father and Lady Walda. The routine was beginning to suit her. She definitely didn't lack for interesting stories.

"And then Fredrick, my second cousin, and Walder, the small one with pasty skin…you know" Lady Walda went on. Lucyia just nodded. She had lost track of who they were talking about several minutes ago. She had so many cousins, and so many named Walder. It was hard not to stay confused through her stories. But they were entertaining nonetheless. Her attention, however, was taken by her father. He was actually conversing with Ramsay.

"Have you decided on the engagement?" Her eyes turned to Ramsay, who had stopped in the middle of chewing his food at the question. She saw the smirk on his face before he had even begun to form it. "You know…" He swallowed his food. "I have." Her father straightened in his seat. Hoping for the help they desperately needed.

"I've enjoyed her company," he leered at her from across the table. "What about you, Lucyia? How has my company been?" There was a breathy undertone to his question and he gave no regard to calling her by her proper title. However, there was also an edge to it. As if he were daring her to lie in front of all of them, so that he may punish her openly. But would she be lying if she said yes? There was a predatory way she so often found him staring at her. It terrified her, but then again it didn't. It was exciting, in a way, making her heart leap and her chest grow warm. She often times found it leaving a blush on her face. No longer did she dread him coming to her door.

"I've had a lovely time" She replied returning his tone. He glared at her long and hard before smacking the table, his face changing into childish glee. "Well that settles that than. I'll have your daughter as my wife. Pay the man Father"

Lord Bolton let out an irritated groan. "You'll have the soldiers you need when you leave"

"Thank you Lord Bolton. We'll leave with in the week."

"No-no" Ramsay interrupted rather loudly. "No we. She stays." He was angered, like a child whose toy was being threaten to be taken. "She's mine now" he hissed at her father.

"That was not the agreement. She's to come home till she weds" her father argued. She could tell that he didn't like this one bit.

"Why wait? We've a godswood. Won't take two minutes."

Their argument was interrupted by a slam of Lord Bolton's fist. He had grown relatively cross. "You've known her a few weeks. You can wait a few months." Ramsay's father gave him a sharp, harsh look. Ramsay gave him the same. There was hatred on his face. He wasn't used to hearing no. For a moment, it looked as though he was going to attack him. He got up from the table so quickly his chair fell over. But instead of reaching for his father, he stormed off.

"And you," Lord Bolton directed his displeasure towards her father. "You've come to me asking for help. My son's request is a simple one. You _will_ consent" Her father nodded his head, "Yes, Lord Bolton. It…it would honor me if she stayed." Lord Bolton simply grunted and returned to his food. It was then Lucyia felt the reassuring pat on her arm from his wife.

"I'm sure you'll calm him. He does so need it." But Lucyia wasn't as sure. Could you truly soothe a monster?

* * *

Her arm was being held rather harshly by Heath, his grip too tight for her liking, as he half dragged her across the stone floor. She pulled back on her arm but he just thrusted her forward. "Lord Ramsay demands your presence."

"I'm aware of that sir. I am perfectly capable of walking myself if that suits you" she snapped. She did not care for this man and wished Ramsay would stop sending him to retrieve her, though maybe that's why he continued to do so. As they reached the door to Ramsay's bedchambers a woman's screams grew louder. She had heard those screams earlier, but had assumed they were coming from the cells. _No Gods. Please._ She prayed she wasn't about to see what she expected.

Heath opened the door, pushing her forward. As she stepped further in she was able to fully see what was going on. Ramsay was knelt on the bed, fully clothed, with the woman the screams belonged to beneath him. She was completely naked, save for the rope that bound her hands. Bruises and cuts covered her once delicate skin. "Please! My lord, stop!" she wailed. Ramsay's expression was dark as her struck her hard against the back. "I give the orders" His voice was deep and menacing.

His eyes caught hers and he sat back. "Lucyia, so glad you could join me." A cruel expression drew on his face. "Heath, get the lady a chair" Heath obeyed, pulling a large chair next to the bed. "Sit sit" Ramsay hurriedly motioned her over. As she took her seat the whore on the bed turned her head, staring at her. They begged her to do something to relieve her of her nightmare.

"I mean for you to know what's expected of you when we're married" He turned his attention back to the woman, forcefully flipping her onto her back. Lucyia watched as he pulled the knife from his belt and slowly traced it around the whore's breast. The woman let out a sad whimper, causing Ramsay's eyes to turn onto her like she was prey. There was something raw and animalistic in it. Much to her annoyance, Lucyia found that she was jealous.

Ramsay dragged his teeth over the small cut he had just made. He continued on that way, sucking and scratching at her flesh. He enjoyed the screams, the whimpers; her completely miserable underneath him. What he didn't enjoy was her _fucking_ squirming. He liked a bit of a fight, but every time this bitch moved she threw him off balance slightly. He grabbed at her waist, pinning her down, his nails sinking into her skin. Reaching down, he placed his hand between her legs. She wasn't wet. Made no difference to him though. They never were. He began to undo the laces of his pants when he heard a sniffle. It wasn't the whore; she was too busy pleading. Turning to Lucyia, he saw her head turned to the side, eyes closed. She was fidgeting in her seat, crossing her legs back and forth. That made him a bit angry. He had told her he wished for her to watch. Pushing the whore to the side he slid off the bed.

"Look at me" he commanded, pulling Lucyia's chin towards him. But she snatched it away. She had the fucking gall to disobey him! "Now!" He was sharper this time. Reluctantly, she turned her head and opened her eyes. It was then he could see the tears welling up in them; he loved it. He got directly in her face; so close their noses were touching. He must have horrified the poor little lady. Oh how sweet. But she was going to have to get over it.

"Are you scared?" He smiled cruelly. She scrunched her nose up at that, huffing under her breath. "No." How dare she fucking lie! He reached for her arm and wrapped his hand tightly around her wrist. She made no move from him though. "I'm angry." She sneered. He stood back up, startled by her answer. "We're betrothed. Why would you make me watch you have sex with another woman?" So there _was_ a fire in her. Gods be good she was fucking jealous. Now this…this was just too good.

"I can do as I wish. It would do you well to remember that." There was no malice to his voice as he ran his hand across her clothed thigh. "I know." Her voice broke at his touch.

"Heath!" he called the soldier. "You can have the left overs" he motioned to the whore. "My lady needs attending to." Her eyes grew wide as Heath left with the whore in his arms, leaving them alone. He brushed the hair from the side of her face and dipped his head down to her neck. "Do you take me for a cruel man?" he asked smugly, biting at her neck. A small noise escaped her throat as he did, but he received no answer. He pushed her skirts up, running his hand up between her bare thigh. She bit her lip stopping whatever noise from coming out _. She had no right. Those were his._ "Because I would never be so cruel as to leave you in this condition." He parted her lips with his own, roughly shoving his tongue in as his hand ran further up her thigh. He pushed back her small clothes and found that she was wet. And she moaned. She fucking moaned.

"Lord Ramsay," she breathed. "I'm supposed to stay a maid till we are married" she pulled back, looking away once again. He took his free hand and brought her back to him. "I'll have what I want" And she would let him. He could see it. If he were to shove himself inside her and take her right now, she wouldn't resist. "But a maid you'll stay." He brought her up in his arms and dropped her on the bed. She laughed. He'd never had anyone laugh in here except for him. He wasn't sure if he liked it. He pushed her skirts back up and sunk a finger inside her. Her head fell back with another moan. He raked his fingers through her hair before grabbing a fistful and pulling her forward. With each push of his finger he made another bite on her neck, each harder than the last. Her hands found their way underneath his tunic, clawing at his skin. _Seven hells_. The faster his finger went, the quicker her breath. He plunged into her over and over again. And then she screamed. She closed around his finger, riding out her climax, as she screamed liked no one else he had ever heard. Screams and moans of pain he was used to. But he'd never heard a scream of pleasure.

He removed his finger, licking her from it. Lucyia was blushing now, embarrassed and a bit flustered. "You lied to me my lady" he finally said, his hand wrapped tight around her thigh. She loved the pressure but just knew he was leaving bruises all over her; she wasn't sure she minded. Gods help her. She wasn't supposed to enjoy that type of thing. It was wrong. At least, that's what she'd been taught. His statement confused her though. When had she lied? "You said you didn't sing." A cocky grin formed on his face, the fire burning in his eyes as he looked at her.

She sat up, not too sure what to do now. She looked down, noticing the laces on his pants were still undone. A bulge had formed there. Surely he would want her to please him as well. She reached forward, but he quickly snatched her hand away. He pushed her to the floor on her knees. He held her head with one hand as he pulled his cock out with another. "Take it in your mouth" He commanded, pushing her face forward. She obeyed and wrapped her mouth around it. A bit unsure of herself, she began sucking and running her tongue down the shaft. "Fucking seven hells" she heard him curse underneath his breath. Soon he began thrusting into her mouth. She found she didn't have much balance on the floor, so she grabbed his hips. Placing her hands back underneath his tunic so she could feel his skin. The harder he thrusted the tighter her grip became, soon her nails were digging into his skin. But he seemed to like that even more letting out another moan. It didn't take him as long to finish as it had her. He came into her mouth almost gagging her. He smirked at the sound and held her mouth shut. "Swallow it" he ordered in a husky whisper. It took some effort but she managed. But just to show him, she wiped what was left of him from her lips and sucked it from her fingers.

There was a possessive hunger in his eyes as his hands traced her face, causing another fire to ignite in her stomach. He let her go, hands clenching at his side. "Get out before I fuck you raw and bloody." Another dark smirk on his lips. Her legs were weak. She stumbled as she tried to stand, but just as before she managed. She rearranged her skirts and smoothed her hair. "Good day Lord Ramsay." She said as she left. Before she shut the door she heard him speak, "Yes it is"


	6. Chapter 6 (SW)

Martha had sent Lucyia's handmaidens away. She had wished to have some time alone with her daughter before this dreadful wedding. It was here too soon for her liking. They had barely waited a month! She was braiding the young girl's hair as she reached for that Gods awful necklace. A flayed man covered in thorns! It was disturbing, but Lucyia seemed to treasure it. There hadn't been a day since they had arrived that she hadn't seen her wearing it. Maybe the bastard had merely threatened her if she was ever to appear without it. The Bolton's help had been extremely tremendous, aiding them well. Martha just wished there had been some other way to gain it. Lucyia reached up to touch the braid when she had finished. "Thank you Mother," she smiled. Trying to calm herself, Martha traced the thorn pattern embroidered on her daughter's dress. "You look beautiful." It was all Martha could do to return the happy gesture. Hopefully it wouldn't be the last time she saw her daughter smile.

The ceremony itself was not very long. They never were in the North. Ramsay tossed away Lucyia's maiden cloak with little care and quickly wrapped her in his own. The lack of respect displeased Martha. If the boy couldn't be bothered to show at least some semblance of care for the cloak how little respect would he show her daughter? Her husband had assured her several times that Lucyia had come into no harm while he was there. But of course she hadn't. He was waiting until now. She just knew it. With Lucyia as his wife he could do whatever he pleased with no one to stop him. She very clearly remembered what happen to Lady Hornwood. As they turned to follow everyone out of the godswood, she caught a glimpse of her son Braydon's face. He was still scowling. Martha just counted herself lucky she was able to get him to come at all. Now she just prayed he didn't try to pick a fight. He just wouldn't budge when he was in this state.

Lucyia laughed happily as the bastard spun her around in the great hall. Martha just couldn't understand it. She didn't believe her daughter was that good at pretending. Maybe all the stories were just that, stories. He did look happy with her. He leaned in to whisper something in her daughter's ear. She cared nothing for the face he made when he did it. Such a vile wicked grin.

 _Oh Gods._ "Damien dear, leave them be!" she called after her son. How could she have lost track of him so quickly.

* * *

Ramsay turned to the boy tugging on his cloak. "Damien dear, leave them be!" Lucyia's mother called after him. So this was one of her brothers then. He leaned down till he was face to face with the boy. "Can I help you little lord?" The boy cocked his head to the side, giving him a strange look. "Is it true you hunt women with dogs?" He had always found children so amusing. They had much more blatant and foolish courage than most people. "Because Braydon said you did." Ramsay followed to where the boy was pointing. Towards the back wall stood a tall, brown haired man, arms crossed with the largest frown he had ever seen. Ramsay laughed to himself. So it was that brother who disliked him so. "No, I also hunt men." Ramsay answered the boy. "Oh," the boy mumbled, his head down for a moment. "Please don't hunt my sister. She's good."

"I'm sure she is" he ruffled the boy's hair. "How 'bout you go hunting with me some time?" The boy beamed at that, forgetting all about what he actually hunted. "Momma! Lord Ramsay said I could go hunting with him!" he hollered across the room towards his mother. The look on the old woman's face was so worth it. All the color had drained from it, as if she would faint. This wedding was shaping up to be much more fun than he thought it would be.

Ramsay sent the boy on his way and found that his dear wife had disappeared. He scoured the room till he laid eyes on her. She was in the midst of a bunch of fucking Frey cousins. He'd just find his fun elsewhere. Fortunately for him, he knew just where to go. He got up beside the older brother, mimicking and mocking his demeanor; arms crossed against the wall.

"I hear you don't much care for me." The look on the man's face said he'd much rather spit on him then talk to him. "No, I don't" he grunted. He wouldn't even make an effort to meet his eye.

"Is it because I'm going to fuck your sister?" he asked, eyebrow raised. Braydon's face turned into one of disgust, but he kept his mouth shut. "Protective older brother are you?" Ramsay went on with no response from the man. "You must have been close. Lannister close perhaps?" a smug grin on his face.

"God's no!" he spat, offended. Braydon moved closer to him, as if to get in his face. He appeared quite agitated. _Go ahead. Hit me. See what happens then._ "I don't like you because you're a -" The hand on Braydon's shoulder stopped him "Enough Braydon. You don't talk to someone in such a way on their wedding day." His father gave him a hard look and that seemed to be enough for the boy.

Well that was all the amusement he was going to have here. "You should listen to him," he said patting Braydon's arm. " _He's_ a smart man." The boy's face turned red. But he knew he wouldn't do anything.

It was late in the evening, so when the shouts for the bedding started he wasn't surprised. His men had already carried Lucyia off. He had insisted no one else touch her. As the younger women gathered around him, he looked to find that Lucyia's mother was still fairly frazzled. She hadn't even made the move to attend them. Rude really.

"Lady Blackthorn," he called. "Don't you want to attend my bedding?"

She drew her lips tight, trying very hard not to frown. "I…I think I'll let the young ladies have it." She was uncomfortable with the prospect he knew. Why else bother teasing her with it? "Ah, well. A pity then." The old woman nodded politely and quickly averted her gaze; probably in the hopes that he wouldn't force her to.

When Ramsay entered his bedchambers, he found that his wife was already naked. Her back was to the door, arms wrapped around herself, trying to conserve some bit of modesty. Her skin was smooth and creamy. Soon he'd mark it with bruises, claiming her as his. She startled at his touch. "My lord," she turned towards him. "I didn't hear you enter." She looked him straight in the eye. Her gaze never shifting down. Well this wasn't going to be any fun if she didn't look at it.

"You had no problem sucking it." Her cheeks turned a bright rose color at his statement. "Just look at it." He mocked. She did as he said, arms still wrapped around her breast. "And none of this." He pulled her arms away, exposing what she was dearly trying to hide. They were almost perfect; perky and pink. Now all they needed were some bite marks. He took one in his hand, running his thumb across the nipple. She shivered underneath his touch.

Ramsay kicked the clothes that were thrown about to the side. He wrapped an arm around her waist and roughly pulled her towards him. Taking a bite of her earlobe he asked, "Did you enjoy my men?" She let out a slight yelp at the graze of his teeth. "No, my- Ramsay." There was a shake to her voice he didn't care for, at least when it wasn't due to him. He lifted his head back to her face, "What did they do?" His tone had grown dark. "Well they…" She hesitated before continuing, "Two of them grazed my breast." _Fuck that!_ Anger quelled inside him. They had no right. "Did Heath stop them?" She shook her head, "No, he said he-he looked forward to having Lord Ramsay's left overs."

He found himself laughing. Of course that's what that fool would say. Pig shite bastard. The thought was amusing, but really, who did that guard think he was. He clenched his fist so tight he could feel his nails drawing blood. He looked behind him. Lucyia had taken several steps back. She looked at him with a mixture of concern and confusion. "I'll take care of him. Don't you worry."

"I thought that was what you wanted" she admitted in a hushed tone. "No" He ran his hands through his hair, wiping away the blood. Why would he want that? He'd share a whore, because who gives a fuck? But her…she was his by rights. He had no intention of sharing. He walked back over to her, grabbing her by the shoulders.

"No one but me touches you. You're mine." And to drive that point home, he shoved his tongue down her throat.

* * *

His kisses weren't passionate. Lucyia knew that. They were animalistic with a need to dominate. But still she liked them. He bit and pulled on her lip until she tasted blood in her mouth. He drove her forward causing her to fall hard against the bed. Taking her by her hair, he pulled her the rest of the way up, straddling her in the process. He gripped her thighs and forced them open. His hands roamed across her body.

"I mean to have you screaming my name before the night's done. You understand?" There was a seductive gleam in his eyes. She nodded. But that didn't seem to please him. He twisted one of her nipples painfully. "I can't hear you" he growled. She gasped in pain and heard him chuckle. "I understand" she breathed.

He leaned back down, biting hard into her shoulder. A moan left her mouth but it wasn't entirely from pain. "Good girl" he whispered in her ear. She could hear the smugness in his voice; she wanted to hate it but couldn't. Everything hurt, but it also felt _so_ good. His hands pinched and clawed at her body. She wanted to reach up, to touch him, but he pushed her hands away every time, growling "Don't fight me." She didn't want to. How could she convince him that she wasn't trying to push him away? His cock was teasing her, pressed outside her folds. It was pure agony.

She felt his hands move to her waist and he pushed himself harder against her, but still not in her. "Do you want me to fuck you?" he teased. She nodded, even though she knew she'd be punished. Because she wanted it. Gods help her she did. She felt his fingers on her throat, pressing in. "I asked you a question" His voice, Gods his voice was dark. She looked him in the eye then. They were burning with desire, hatred, lust, something; she didn't know what and she didn't care. She just wanted to be burned. She kept trying to tell herself this was wrong. He enjoyed hurting her, and she liked it. What she had been taught about the marriage bed was quite different. This by comparison was immoral. But she had also been taught that what happened between a man and wife was holy. Maybe that's why the gods saw fit to have them married.

"Fuck me, please" she begged. A dark laugh came from his lips then. She gasped as he shoved himself inside her. It was like being split in half. She ran her hands through the sheets, trying to keep from reaching out. She screamed when he ripped through her maiden's head. That seemed to entertain him, because he let out another laugh. He continued to ride her, one hand on her hip, the other wrapped around her throat. Each thrust became harder and she was in sweet sweet misery. With each thrust she rolled her hips against him. She couldn't keep hold of the sheets and decided she couldn't stand it anymore. Quickly, she reached forward, placing her hands on his back and pulling him forward. He moved the hand on her throat to catch himself. He looked at her with rage and probably would have said something if she hadn't chose then to sink her nails into his back. He moaned, thrusting into her even harder. Her breath quickened as the intensity between her legs grew. She was so close….and then he stopped. "The next word out of your mouth better be my name." And then he was thrusting again. There it was, the intensity was meeting its apex, and just as commanded she screamed his name. It left her shaking as he continued thrusting before finally finishing in her.

"Seven hells woman" he grunted as he rolled over. There was a smirk on his face and she could feel a matching one forming on her's.

* * *

Ramsay watched Lucyia as she slept beside him. He had planned on making her sleep in her new bedchambers, connected to his. He had never actually slept next to a woman. There didn't really seem like much of a point. But he had wanted to admire his handy work. Bruises covered her shoulders and neck. Her lip was swollen from where he had bitten her too hard. And he could see where his teeth had left marks on her breast. She was beautiful. Somewhere in all his staring, she had fallen asleep. He was thoroughly proud of himself, but he did have other things he needed to get done. So, regretfully, he drew himself out of bed. As he reached for a shirt, he caught sight of his back in the mirror. She had left gashes all over his back; he could still feel their sting. They didn't look half bad.

He could hear the roar of laughter and merriment as he walked down the hall. It was rather annoying. The wedding party seemed to still be going on, which is what he had expected. It's what he had been hoping on any way. He found his men in the hall outside the cells. _How fitting._

"Lord Ramsay!" They cheered, lifting up cups, all of them thoroughly intoxicated.

"Didn't expect to see ya back so soon" Heath laughed.

"I thought you might want the _leftovers_." He glowered. Heath was apparently too drunk to hear the edge in his voice.

"Sure, I'll fuck her straight." He said, the rest of the men laughing with him.

"Wrong _fucking_ answer" Ramsay growled. The knife to his throat seemed to sober Heath right up. He held his hands up in defense. He looked as though he might actually piss himself. "I know what you said to her" He pressed the knife closer, prickling the skin. "I didn't…I mean…" He was a stammering mess. "You've let us before." His lip quivering when he finally answered. So, he just assumed he was going to give them his wife. His blood was boiling, but he drew the knife away from his neck. Heath let out a grateful sigh, but it was quickly replaced with a scream. Ramsay plunged the knife into the man's eye, causing him to crumble to the ground in pain. He ripped it back out, earning another scream. Kicking him hard in the ribs, he ordered "Get up you piece of pig shit." With one hand over the gaping wound where his eye use to be, the man got up. "Look at me with the eye you've still got left." He spat. He could feel the fire in his veins. A fire formed of pure rage. "She's mine" he hissed. "I'm going to make sure you don't forget that."

He motioned to what guards weren't drunk and ordered them to drag Heath to the cells. Before he turned to follow them, he looked at the other two men. "Don't think I don't know what you two did. Be thankful if I don't take your hands when I get through with him." He spun around, walking down the stairs. As the smell of the cells hit him he grinned. _It was a good night indeed._


	7. Chapter 7

**There's fluff here if you squint. Enjoy!**

* * *

Ramsay watched as his wife ran the blade down the man's arm. That wasn't going to cut right. She was holding the blade wrong. She kept twisting the knife every time she brought it down. The man screamed but it wasn't the same. She had taken out a chunk of flesh, not a layer of skin. The wound wouldn't burn as badly. But she was trying.

Her shoulders slumped and she bit the edge of her lip as she turned to him. "That wasn't right. I'm sorry." She still winced every time she cut someone but her faces of disgust had long passed. She was getting better, he had to admit that. He was actually still surprised that she had so readily agreed to learn, though he hadn't given her a choice. He rarely did.

"Give me the knife. You're bending your wrist wrong." he held his hand out, taking the blade from her. He showed her again how to flay the skin, pulling off a thin layer.

She crossed her arm and her nose wrinkled. "Why can't I do that?" she huffed. She was frustrated and he couldn't help but laugh to himself. It was cute.

"I'll be 22 on my nameday next week. I've spent far more time with a flaying knife then you have."

Her eyes grew wide at his remark. "I didn't know it was almost your nameday. Is your father planning anything?"

Ramsay snorted. The idea of his father planning anything other than battle plans was ridiculous. "Put the knife back on his arm" There was a whimpered protest from the man but it went ignored. She did as she was told. Coming up beside her, he took her wrist and guided her hand down. She gasped as the skin came off, falling to the floor. "It worked that time."

"It'll do that when you hold your wrist right" he retorted.

* * *

He awoke to the sound of Lucyia's handmaiden, Kar?-no-Lana?-no-May…some name he could never bother to remember, entering the room. Her feet scampered about the floor like she was a mouse. Granted, she sounded like one too. _If she opens up that curtain I'll kill her._ He just wanted sleep. Was that too much to ask? He had his arms wrapped around his wife, bringing her close to his chest. She was warm and soft; he liked it. And this mouse of a girl was trying to ruin the only peace he'd get today.

Reaching for one of the pillows, he growled at her. "Get out Squeaky" Without getting up, he tossed the pillow across the room and hit the wall beside her. She squeaked and ran out the room. She did that every time he frightened her. He would have found it more humorous if he wasn't so tired.

He had just gotten comfortable again and was almost asleep when he felt Lucyia stir. She was awake. Groaning he asked, "You going to get up now?" She yawned, stretching an arm as she curled deeper into the furs. "Can't" she answered sleepily, "You just tossed out the person who helps me get dressed."

"Now you'll have to walk about the keep naked" he could feel the smug grin forming on his face.

"mmhhh" she murmured, burying her face into his chest.

* * *

Ramsay snatched his sleeping wife from the bed and pulled her to her feet. He was already dressed and ready to leave. He had meant to leave her be. His father wanted him at a meeting in the great hall, but his statement from earlier still rang in his mind. The idea of her walking about the keep naked was too irresistible for him to pass up.

"Ramsay?" She blinked back the sleep from her eyes as she steadied herself. At bit dazed, she looked about the room before turning back to him.

"I've a meeting to go to. I want you to attend me", the corners of his mouth twisting into a grin. He pushed her towards the door and in her sleep-dazed confusion she didn't resist. She stumbled to the door before stopping and looking down at herself. Her eyes widen in realization that she was still unclothed, in nothing but her sheer nightdress. Looking back towards the dresser, she made an effort to move and dress herself. But he blocked her path.

"I think you're already overdressed" He pulled the straps of her dress down from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Her face turned red as it often did when she was flustered.

"But-But the guards…people will stare.", she stuttered while wringing her hands. He just shrugged. "They're men. They're already staring at you." Taking her by the shoulders he attempted to push her towards the door once again. But she resisted this time. She grounded herself, feet planted on the floor as she wrapped her arms around his chest. "Ramsay please, no" she begged, her voice breaking as her lip stuck out. She looked up to him with a pleading, frenzied look in her eyes. _No?_ She should know better than that by now. He pressed hard into the shoulders he was still holding, nails sinking into her skin.

"Do you really wish to deny me on my nameday?" She hung her head at that, as though she had shamed herself. Unwrapping herself from him she spoke, "No my lord. Forgive me"

With that he opened the door and thrusted her out.

* * *

Lucyia didn't know which was worse, the stares of the guards as she passed or the shameful feeling of being so exposed. Her legs shook from nerves not wanting to carry her further. But she continued all the same. She had tried her best to cover herself. An arm wrapped around her chest. A hand between her legs. But Ramsay had quickly snatched both of those away, laughing at her in the process. Not wanting to meet the eyes of onlookers she stared straight ahead, wiping away the tears from her own.

Why was he doing this to her? What had she done? She obeyed his every word. Did everything he said. What cause did he have to embarrass and shame her in such a way? But that was it wasn't it? He didn't need a reason. He didn't just enjoy physical torture apparently. She wanted to run and hide. To find a dark corner where no one could see her. All she could think about was what these men, these guards and soldiers, would do to her if they found her alone now. And that thought was terrifying. She enjoyed Ramsay's touches but the thought of one of them doing the same made her sick to her stomach.

So caught up was she in her own thoughts that she didn't even notice the staircase until she was slipping on the step. Ramsay caught her by the arm and roughly pulled her back up against him. "It's no fun if the bruises don't come from me." She could hear the smugness in his voice. But it was that statement that made her realize she had nothing to fear from these men. He only liked it when he hurt her. She remembered what happened to Heath. He now walked about the keep as a reminder to anyone who dared to think about her in such a way. These men would not harm her and they had no right to look at her so, with humor in their eyes at her situation. She was a lady, deserving of respect no matter of how she was dressed. She rounded her shoulders, straightening her back and holding her head up, her hands resting to either side. And as a lady, she would act as such.

* * *

Ramsay found her resilience surprising. His wife never let anything bother her for very long. He could hear her crying when he first pushed her out. But know she walked gracefully through the halls as though she were fully dressed, head held high and every bit of a lady. She even smiled and nodded at one of the servants as she turned the corner. She stopped in front of the door that led into the great hall and turned to him. "Do you wish for me to follow you in?"

"Go back to your rooms if you're uncomfortable." He dared, just to see what she'd do. She met his gaze, eyebrow raised. A smile formed on her face, "And leave you all alone? I think not" And with that she opened the door and walked through.

He hadn't even made it through the doorway when he heard his father's voice. "What is the meaning of this?" Walking further in, he could see his father sitting at the table with Lord Whitehill. Gods was that idiot annoying.

"I'm following my husband's wishes. To please him" she answered, standing in front of them in all her glory.

There was a scowl on his father's face, though that always seemed to be there. "Well it does not please me"

"That was never my intention" His wife spoke the insult with such a polite smile and tone, as though she were paying him the highest of compliments. He laughed. How could he not? His father had never been short for words but he sat stunned now.

"You should teach your wife to hold her tongue" Whitehill spoke. Did he think he'd gain anything from his father through bootlicking?

"I don't recall asking you Whitehill." He sneered. "Go on now Lucyia" he motioned her out of the room. She curtsied towards the men before turning to leave. "As you wish Lord Ramsay"

Finally finding his tongue, his father spoke. "I'd watch her if you mean for her to walk around like that. There's no telling what one of the guards would do should they find her alone." Ramsay heard the threat behind his words. If he meant to send someone after her to teach him a lesson he was in for a surprise. "Ask any one of them what happened to Heath. I doubt one of them has the balls to try."

* * *

Lucyia took a look of herself in the mirror. After eventually tracking down Karlia, her handmaiden, that morning, she had gotten clothed in the dress she had chosen. The material was a bit too thin and the bodice too tight. But Ramsay liked it and those were probably the reasons why. So for his nameday she'd endure it. He had put her behind that morning. She had intended to get up early and check in with the kitchens but Ramsay had kept her. He had wanted to sleep and cuddle of all things. In the month they had been married, he had always taken a hold of her when they went to sleep. She had just assumed it was a way for him to keep control, to keep her still. But no, apparently he just liked her being near. She wasn't entirely sure what to think of that. And of course there was the whole incident after that. There would be time for thinking on the matter later though. Right now she had work to do.

Pushing back a strand of hair, she went to fix the table again. It just looked all wrong. _Still._ The table had already been rearranged three times. She had arranged for the kitchens to make his favorite foods for dinner and they'd be here any minute with it. She was determined that if no one else was going to do anything for his name day, she was. It just didn't feel right to her for the day to go completely ignored.

There was a knock at the door before a guard entered. "Lord Ramsay requests your presence in the cells" No, that would ruin her whole plan. What was she to do? She couldn't refuse. That was likely to only make him angry. But what other choice did she have?

"Sir, could you ask him to come here? I…require his attention." The guard looked puzzled for a moment. Most likely he didn't wish to go back to Ramsay and relay her message. But he finally nodded and turned to leave.

She was standing when he entered, waiting for him. He threw the door open, a scowl on his face. She had displeased him by not going, she knew. He took a step in and opened his mouth as if to shout something harsh, when he caught sight of the room. The food had gotten there moments after the guard had left and she had spent what felt like an hour rearranging candles.

He paused a moment, confused. From the looks of him he must have been in the middle of something in the cells. His clothes had splotches of blood, his hands were covered, and there were smears of it on his face. She found it strangely appealing.

"What's this?" he finally asked.

She clasped her hands, giving him a smile. "It's dinner for your nameday." She reached out, pulling a chair and took a seat. But he didn't follow suit. He just stood there, eyebrows scrunched and lips pulled tight. "Please sit if you like."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why?" His tone was sharp.

"So you can eat?" Why was he still angry?

He gave her a hard look before eventually sitting. "No. Why this?" he clarified, gesturing a hand to the food.

"It's your nameday" Why wouldn't she do something for his nameday?

"You said that." He sneered. He was upset with something, that much she could tell. She just didn't know what. Wiping the blood from his hands, he picked up a fork and finally began eating. She let out a thankful sigh. After several silent minutes, he continued.

"No one does anything for my nameday. So, what do you want?" His tone was indifferent now, uncaring. Somehow that hurt worse.

"I just wanted to celebrate it." She assured as she picked up a roll.

"Then why not have it in the great hall with everyone else?"

"You hate Lady Walda. I assumed you would prefer this."

"You're not afraid of offending my father?" he smirked.

"I believe I've already done that once today. Has your father's opinion ever bothered you?" she quipped. He shook his head, laughing. "What about your family? Do they need something else?" All she wanted was to do something nice for him. That couldn't be too hard to believe. "No. I am your wife Ramsay. I wanted to do something nice for your nameday. That is all. I promise you." He looked her straight in the eye then, searching them as he often did.

"So dinner was your big plan?" he mocked. Well she just found out about it last week. But no she had something else. Going to her chest across the room she pulled out what she had been working on all week.

"I made this" she found her voice had grown quite from nerves. "It's not much but I only had a week." She had crossed stitched their sigil, the one on her necklace, into a piece of fabric for him. "I thought I could sew it into a piece of clothing for you to wear in battle." She watched him run his fingers over the stitching, nerves growing in her stomach. After a moment she saw just the smallest hint of the edge of his lip curl up. He liked it! But she knew Ramsay well enough to know he'd never say so.

He shoved the fabric in his pocket and went back to eating. "Since you are in such a giving mood I'll have Squeaky draw me a bath and you can do something _nice_ for me after." _Oh._ She was hoping he wouldn't bother with the bath till after. He must have mistaken her look of disappointment. "Is that a problem?" His voice was sharp again.

"The blood looks…." She found herself flustered. Oh this was just embarrassing. "I wanted to do it before you bathed" she finally blurted out.

A smug look formed on his face at her admission. Pushing his chair back, he stood up and made his way over to her. "All you had to do was ask wife" Taking her by the hand, he pulled her back towards their bed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey everyone! Hope you're still liking the story. Unfortunately, there is going to be a 2 week delay before the next chapter. I"m still editing and writing the last couple of chapters. See ya then!**

* * *

"Something isn't right" Martha told her husband. She had tried having this conversation with him before but he wouldn't listen. "These letters don't sound like her" She said, shaking the pile in front of her. Lucyia had been married to that…that thing for several months now. Each letter she received from her daughter was darker than the last. She was apparently being taught how to flay people and according to her it 'was not as horrible as she had imagined'. They were changing her daughter. Her little girl would never have agreed to such a despicable thing. "He's done something. I know it." There was a plea in her voice for her husband to do something. But he just sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was frustrated with her she knew. But what was she to do?

"If something were wrong she would tell-" She cut him off there. She couldn't bear to hear that line again. "And what if he's reading her letters? What then?" No, this wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at all. "I'm going. Tonight" Corren stood in objection to that. "You will not. We're on thin ice with Roose as it is." He walked around his desk to her, caressing her face in his hands. "She's a Blackthorn. She's fine" He was trying to be reassuring. But he just didn't understand. How could he? He hadn't given birth to her. "Promise me you won't go" he said, worry written all over his face. She hesitated a moment before nodding. Placing a kiss on her head he thanked her. "I'll be to bed soon." He told her. She left, but not for her bedchambers. Corren could hide behind politics all he wanted. She was getting her daughter back.

* * *

It was late in the evening when she arrived a few days later. The guards left to announce to Roose Bolton that she had arrived, leaving her in the great hall. The lord had obviously been in the middle of something, paper work perhaps, because he looked rather annoyed.

"Lady Blackthorn, may I help you?"

"I want to see my daughter. If she's sleeping please wake her." It was then she heard the muffled scream from somewhere further within.

Roose rolled his eyes, irritated. "They're not sleeping. I can assure you of that. It's late, why don't you wait until morning?" He turned to leave her there but she would not be ignored. "I demand to see my daughter"

"Demand?!" It had not been wise of her to anger him. Normally she would have bitten her tongue, but… "Please, my lord. It's a mother's worry." Lord Bolton stared at her long and hard then. "Fine" he grunted, relenting to her request. He waved a guard off to retrieve them. But he turned back to her before he left, "Gods help you if you've interrupted something" He snorted, almost out of amusement.

* * *

Ramsay held Lucyia's hands above her head and up against the headboard. She was so grabby, he loved it. Her hands constantly reaching for him, feeling him. But right now, as he held the knife to her throat, he wanted her still.

"Scream for me" He commanded, the devilish smirk playing on his lips. "It makes me hard when you scream." She lifted her head, her lips parting, when there was a knock on the door. He paid it no mind save to tell the person to leave. He pushed the blade closer and had it just barely cutting the skin beneath her chin.

"Lord Ramsay" The muffled voice of a guard called. Didn't they know better than to interrupt him by now? Realizing he was going to get no peace, he barged his way to the door knife still in hand. Lucyia moved to pull the sheets to her and cover herself from public view. "Don't you dare" He pointed for her to let the sheet go. She obeyed with a frown and let the sheet fall to the side. He denied her that bit of modesty. It was amusing to him, the way she'd get so flustered when anyone was at the door while they were fucking. The guard appeared quite startled when he threw the door open.

"Well, what's so bloody important then?"

"I- your lord father has called you and Lady Lucyia to the great hall."

"No" was his curt answer as he preceded to slam the door in his face. But no sooner had it closed was the guard knocking again. _Arrrgghhh._ Opening the door again, he gave the man a violent stare.

"I'm sorry sir, but he didn't ask. He commanded. The lady's mother is here and wishes-"

 _Wishes._ He didn't care what the thrice damned woman wished. But if his father had ordered him he didn't have much of a choice. What Ramsay wouldn't give for that old fool to fall dead. "Just go. We'll be there" He grumbled, waving the guard off.

"Have you been telling your mother nasty things about me?" He questioned, pulling on a pair of pants. Maybe she didn't really like the way he fucked her. Maybe she wanted away from her monster of a husband. Well, that was too bad. He had plans for her. But when he looked to her she looked puzzled. She hadn't been expecting this visit either.

"No, of course not." Lucyia answered, wrapping herself in a robe.

"Dirty things, then?" He quipped. And she laughed that sweet laugh of hers. "If that were the case, my mother would already have my head."

* * *

Lucyia found that she had trouble walking to the great hall. Ramsay had already taken her once that evening and was about to a second time when they were interrupted. Apparently, that was too much work for her legs. Thankfully though, Ramsay said nothing as she leaned on him to walk, his arm wrapped around her waist. In fact, she was almost certain he was proud of himself.

As they entered, she saw her lady mother gasp, covering her mouth with her hand. It was then that Lucyia realized she must look a fright. Her throat was still tender from where he had choked her earlier. There was a constant bruise there at the base of her neck. And she was fairly sure it wasn't the only obvious bruise sticking out from underneath her robe.

"Lady Blackthorn!" Ramsay called. "To what do we owe the pleasure?" She knew very well the only pleasure he got from her mother was from antagonizing her. He pulled a chair out, allowing Lucyia to sit, before he stood behind her with his hands placed on her shoulders.

"I had wished to speak to my daughter alone if you please." Her mother said, holding her head up to him. "It does not please me." The disdain was evident in his voice. Her mother was playing a dangerous game. "She's my wife." She felt his hands grip her shoulders harder, as if she was about to be taken away. "You can say whatever it is to both of us."

"I…" Her mother was at a loss of words. Lucyia didn't know what she was here for but if she was not willing to speak of it in front of Ramsay then she feared it might anger him. She took a deep breath before leaning back to look at her husband. "Please?" He traced his hand down her neck before answering, "I'll be in the cells. I expect you to join me when you're done." He was annoyed, but not angry thankfully. He gave her shoulder another hard press and left her alone with her mother.

When her mother was sure he was out of earshot, she rushed from her seat and kneeled in front of her. "My poor girl" she whispered, eyes transfixed on her marks as she examined her. "Mother, truly I'm okay." She tried to reassure her. She looked far worse than she was.

"You're not okay. Look at what this monster has done to you" Her mother completely misunderstood. But how do you explain to your mother that you like it when your husband hurts you? "He's not a monster." She found herself defending him. He wasn't, she tried to convince herself. But he was. He was manipulative and strong willed. And brought an end to people who wronged him. Violently. He did terrible things but…he was _her_ monster.

"How can you say that? Look at yourself!" Her mother was becoming indignant, but was wise enough to keep her voice down. "Mother, no I…they're from beddings. I like them." She admitted. Her mother's face turned to one of disgust. "Love making doesn't leave these types of marks Lucyia." Her mother was completely aghast. They weren't from _love making_. They were from _fucking_. Lucyia had discovered there was a difference between the two. Love making was between two people who shared that emotion. Ramsay would never make love to her. She wasn't entirely sure he could love. But he fucked her and she enjoyed it. And somewhere in all of that, she had found she was fond of him. Maybe that was the closest she'd ever get, but that was okay with her. She wasn't going to let her mother take that away.

"Do you not remember what he's done to other women? What's to stop him from doing those things to you?" The question was rhetorical she knew, but the answer came to mind all the same. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing to keep him from doing those things to her. It was only a matter of time. Being married to Ramsay was a death sentence. That was obvious to her before. But she didn't see death looming in front of her when she looked at him. Instead, she saw something raw, possessive and volatile. That should scare her but it didn't. It was exciting, exhilarating even as depraved as that may sound. Ramsay would be the death of her one day, but perhaps it would be a death she'd enjoy.

"I'll find a way to get you home. Maybe if we get the Starks-" No, no Starks. Lucyia's family had been loyal to them for years and she saw where it had gotten them. The Starks were an all but destroyed house. There's nothing they would do. There was nothing she wanted them to do. "No Mother!" she said sharply causing a look of shock from the woman.

Bracing herself with the arms of the chair, she pulled herself up and stood in front of her mother. "Thank you so much for your concern Mother." She smiled at her. She really did mean it; she knew her mother was only here because she loved her and was worried. "But I'll not leave my husband." And without another word, she turned to meet Ramsay in the cells, leaving her mother sitting on the stone floor with her mouth agape.

* * *

It was late in the afternoon when she caught sight of him. He had been gone this morning when she woke up but that wasn't completely unusual. She often times awoke and ate breakfast alone. But he had always come to her before the morning was through. She had never had to go looking for him. She found him by the kennels feeding his dogs. She hated those dogs, their teeth constantly gnashing as they growled. "My lord" she called garnering his attention.

"Did your mother finally leave?" was the only greeting she received. He seemed focused on his practiced work. So much so that his usual smirk was not apparent.

"Yes. She left this morning." He dropped the now empty bucket to the ground as he shut the gate behind him. "Good." He sneered. "What did she want?" he asked, coming to her side. She braced herself for his reaction. He wasn't going to like her answer. But she knew better by now not to lie to him. "She wanted me to go home with her." His lips pulled into a tight scowl as he glowered down at her. "You're not-" She didn't know from where, but she somehow managed to find the courage to interrupt his growling. She placed a hand on his chest and looked up to him with a smile, "I'm not going anywhere, love" She hadn't meant to call him love. She always called him Lord Ramsay or my lord in public. She only ever said Ramsay when they were alone in their rooms. But the name had come out all the same as if there had never been a time when she hadn't said it. Now that it was said she couldn't take it back. And she found that she didn't want to. As ridiculous as it sounded, she did love him.

His expression turned into something she had never seen from him. His face softened and he smiled. He genuinely smiled, no smirk or anything else behind it. He looked happy. He reached his hand forward, as if to stroke her face "I-" he started in a near whisper and then recoiled sharply as if his hand had been bitten by a snake. Instead of stroking her face, he slapped her hard against the cheek. She took a step back, gasping in pain and confusion.

His face had gone incredibly dark, fury in his eyes. "Don't ever look at me like that again!" he snarled. Look at him like what? She didn't understand. He gave her no explanation. He simply stormed off.


	9. Chapter 9

**Happy Tuesday everyone! I finally got caught up with my editing, although I'm still writing the last chapter. We're near the end now. Only 3 more chapters to go. This chapter is completely from Ramsay's POV. I've rewritten and edited this thing at least half a dozen times. I'm still not completely satisfied with it, but hopefully it turned out okay. ENJOY!**

 ***Warning: triggers for rape***

* * *

She had looked at him with those green eyes of hers. There was a warmth to the way she was looking at him. _I'm not going anywhere, love._ She had said that to him with her sweet little voice, smiling so innocently at him. His heart had nearly stopped and his chest…it felt strangely warm. For just a brief moment, he had returned that look. But Ramsay snapped himself out of that quickly. The nerve of that girl! She was trying to break him, make him something he wasn't. Well no. He wasn't falling for that. This, whatever _this_ was, was disgusting. She was disgusting.

He avoided her for days after that. Even forcing her to sleep in her own room. Just the sight of her drew him into a near rage. She walked around like she owned the damn place, twirling and smiling. Looking so _fucking_ happy. She shouldn't be happy. Those warm soft eyes haunted him. There wasn't any fear in them at all. When had it left? And how had he never noticed until now? She wasn't afraid of him anymore and hadn't been for some time. And that was a problem. What was to keep her from leaving if she wasn't properly afraid of him? Did she think that if she was kind and acted happy that he'd let his guard down so she could escape? To follow her mother back home? Well that wasn't happening. She was his by rights.

He found the sight of her revolting. Her face disgusted him. Her body disgusted him. Ramsay hated that he had agreed to this marriage. He hated her. And with each day that passed he found he hated her more. As much as she repulsed him, as much as he avoided her, she still found her way into his head every night. She was always naked, a smirk on her face, and then she'd scream that beautiful terrible scream of hers. So breathy, so wanting. It drove him bloody mad. She thought she could control him with what she thought was beauty and sex. No, no he'd show her. He was going to put that little bitch in her place. She wasn't going anywhere. He'd abuse her in the worst way possible. He'd make her hate and fear him again. Then she'd never look at him like _that_ ever again.

He came to her room and found that she was bathing. Her eyes were closed and her head leaned back against the edge of the tub. "Lord Ramsay, is that you?" she called at the noise of his steps. But he was already standing behind her. "Oh" she startled. Soap bubbles covered her beautifully ugly skin.

"Get on the bed" he growled. She smiled at that. Her lips twisting into a smug grin. "No fucking smiling" he ordered through gritted teeth. Her smile immediately disappeared. Good. He could see the confusion cross her face as she reached for a towel. He quickly snatched it away and threw it across the room. Her eyebrows scrunched up, even more confused. Well, he was about to clear that up. She climbed on to the bed, laying on her back. He got on the bed beside her and to his dismay she started reaching for his clothes. This bitch just wasn't getting it.

He pushed her arms away and slapped her across the face. "Don't touch me! I know what you're trying to do." And she still tried to act the sweet innocent little girl. "Ramsay I-" he hit her again. This time she stayed silent. He went to straddle her, but the sight of her face drove him mad. He roughly flipped her over, the girl gasping in response. It wouldn't be the first time he had taken her from behind. This was better. No eyes to stare at him. No soft round face to stare at.

He nearly ripped the laces of his pants as he attempted to get inside her. He took his hands and pinned down her arms as he thrusted into her. It wasn't gentle by any means, but he never was. And then she let out a scream. _No, no not that thrice damned scream._ Ramsay had loved making every whore beneath him scream. It set his blood on fire and drove his lust forward. But they never screamed like this. They always yelled out for him to stop or sobbed with their screams. But Luycia, her screams were pleas for more. And fucking damn him he loved it. _Stop it stop it STOP IT!_ "I don't think you realize the situation you're in" he rasped. "How lucky you are to be my wife and this is how you treat me." He lifted her head up by her hair, and taking a rag from the side table, gagged her. He pushed her head back into the mattress and continued. She was attempting to say something but the rag kept the words in her mouth. Now she was squirming beneath him. She was uncomfortable. Good, she was going to get a lot worse. Pressing his fingers hard into her hips, he drove further in. She tried pulling away then, but he dragged her back.

"You know, I could have had the Stark girl." He ridiculed. "Got a letter with the idea a few weeks after I was betrothed to you. But no, I'm a gentleman. I keep my promises." He leaned down then, right next to her ear. "I don't need you. I could kill you and marry Sansa. No one would care.," he mocked. "So learn your place _love"_ he spat out the last part with a cruel laugh.

He caught sight of the brazier on the other side of the room. He could ruin that disgustingly beautiful face of hers right now. He'd doubt she'd ever dare to look at him again. Yes, that's what he'd do. Then she'd scream, truly scream! But no sooner had he grabbed a fistful of hair to pull her up, he let go. He couldn't do it. _Pathetic_. What in hells was wrong with him? He wouldn't have hesitated with anyone else.

He thrusted harder now, angry at her for whatever she was doing to him and angry at himself for letting her. She was trying to break him. He was already broken. The fucking bitch had made him….

He yelled as he violently came inside her " _I HATE YOU!"_ , slamming his hands against the headboard. He steadied himself with a breath as he hung above her. He wanted to hate her. He really did. But the truth was he didn't find her disgusting at all and he couldn't bring himself to.

He had never had anyone look at him the way she did. That day hadn't been the first time she had done it either. It was just the first time he recognized it for what it truly was. Love. The idea was completely laughable. Who in all of Westeros would love him? Apparently this woman below him. And he was driving her away. Fear wasn't what had been keeping her from leaving.

He sat up and turned her over as gently as he could. He expected her to turn away in anger, but instead she looked right at him. Tears flowed down her face as terror filled her eyes. He hadn't thought his actions had been that bad. He'd done worse to her in fucking that she enjoyed. No, it wasn't the hitting or pushing. It was the screaming, the yelling, and his words that had finally pushed her over the edge. This is what he had wanted right? For her to be afraid. He had done some cruel things to her; teasing her with his hunting dogs, forcing her to torture a man. She had been scared every time. He remembered the look in her eyes. At the time he had enjoyed it. But she had quickly gotten over each encounter, even enjoying some of it. His cruelly beautiful little wife.

But now…now those eyes looked back at him with pure terror. He had never seen that on her and he didn't care for it. Because the truth was, he didn't hate her at all. He loved her. That's why he never noticed or cared that the fear left. She was happy and he was happy. It was only when he was forced to recognize it that it bothered him. He would never admit it to anyone, but he was scared. The thought of her leaving scared him. No, she hadn't broken him or tried to change him. In fact, she was one of the few who hadn't. But now he'd be lucky if she didn't run back home like her mother had wanted.

He took the rag out of her mouth and tossed it across the room. He never wanted to see it again. Her fearful whimpers could be heard now, nothing to hold them back. "Shh" he tried to calm her, taking his thumb and wiping the tears from her face. To his surprise, she didn't shy away. He laid beside her and pulled her into his arms. She quickly buried her face into his neck and began softly sobbing. Burying his face into her hair, he continued to shush her. "I'm sorry" he murmured into her hair as he stroked it. It was the only apology he had. "I love you" There was nothing else for him to say. So, he kept repeating his murmurings, I'm sorry, I love you, Imsorry, Iloveyou, imsorryiloveyou, until it all ran together. Ramsay had never been a religious man, but as he held his wife he prayed. _Let her forgive me._ Because it would take an intervention from a higher power to fix what he had done.

She never pushed him away, so he never left. It had only been mid-afternoon when he had come to her. Now it was dark, well past sunset. Lucyia was asleep, softly breathing next to him, but he knew he'd get no rest. He shifted his weight, moving his arm from underneath her. She couldn't be comfortable sleeping like that. She startled, her eyes opening from being woken. "Ramsay" she whispered in the dark. That was the first word she had spoken to him. He sat up, ready for her to tell him to leave. "I love you too." And then she closed her eyes and fell back to sleep. It was so quick, so simple. He didn't know if she had forgiven him, but she loved him and that was enough for him to lay back down and fall asleep.

* * *

He awoke a few hours later. While he had been able to fall asleep it wasn't peaceful. In the process of shifting his weight to rub the sleep from his eyes, he found that Lucyia was still in his arms. She had woken up early as well, though why she hadn't moved far away from him was beyond him. He had almost expected to wake up with a knife in his throat. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed. Maybe she wasn't as much of a fighter as he thought. Silence hung between them. Her green eyes stared back at him, unflinching as the grass in her eyes seemed to swirl. The seconds turned to minutes as they stared at each other. He was the one to finally break it.

"I hurt you" It wasn't a question. He knew what he did.

"I had expected as much.", was her blunt reply.

"I won't ever hurt you again." Somewhere along the way he found that he had made a promise to himself. He wouldn't let anyone harm her. No one but him would ever lay a hand on her. And that's where the problem laid.

Ramsay knew what people called him. The Monster of the Dreadfort. A name he earned for the torture he would put people through. He liked the name. He enjoyed the pain he made others suffer. That name made it evident. It told others what he was. She had to have known that name before she married him. But she had still come to him willingly. That either made her the bravest or maddest person in all of Westeros. Or both.

There was a sad sort of smile on her lips as her gaze shifted, looking him over. "We both know that's a lie."

It was. She hadn't married a gentle man and he had no intentions of changing. He doubt he could change. But the hurt he caused her last night…he didn't like that at all.

"Marrying you was truly a blessing." Another smile graced her lips as her eyes went dreamy. "I found that I liked the pain. The bruises, the cuts….I could finally embrace this part of myself with you. Something that I had been forced to hide for so long." She looked him straight in the eye then, placing a hand to his cheek. "You made me whole and then…." Her voice broke. She had to close her eyes and take in a deep breath before she continued. "And then you tore me apart."

He opened his mouth to speak but she placed a finger to his lips. "I don't want useless words." She gripped him tight as she looked into his eyes, almost begging. "I want to believe you, to trust you. So please, I need an honest answer. Do you hate me?"

"I told you last night I-"

"I know" She interrupted. "And I believe you. But you also said you hated me."

He had basically raped her last night. He had threatened to kill her. Had wanted to set that soft lovely face of hers on fire. But all his wife seemed to care about was whether or not he hated her. The physical pain he had put her through was nothing to her. He had hurt something far more intimate.

He reached out, stroking her cheek as softly as he could manage. "I don't hate you." And that was his honest answer. He couldn't if he wanted to. She was too damn perfect.

He felt all of her tense muscles grow lax as she let out a thankful sigh. She pressed the most chaste, soft kiss to his lips that he had ever received.

"Then hear me when I say this, love. I will not leave your side."

* * *

 **And before I get hate mail telling me no one in their right mind would act like Lucyia did at the end, let's keep in mind that she isn't completely sane, if that hasn't been made clear already.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello! I just want to thank everyone who has left comments, favorited, followed, read and enjoyed this story. Y'all make my day. We're getting close to the end. The next two chapters will be an epilogue of sorts. There is a spoiler in here for Episode 1 of the Telltale Game of Thrones game. I'll mark the paragraph with an asterisk (*) should you choose to skip it.**

* * *

Ramsay walked down the long corridor to his bedchambers. He had just left a meeting with his father. Battle plans raced through his head. Winterfell had already been sacked and burned. They had had men there garrisoning it for months. But Roose wanted to be there to hold it. Ramsay himself was supposed to clear the remaining area, making sure no Stark bannermen were trying to hold the keep. They would have to leave in a few days once preparations were finished. But for now, Ramsay had a more pressing matter.

He opened the door to find his wife in their solar, eyes transfixed on the brazier while a book laid in her lap. The thoughts of what he had planned to do to her with that brazier just a few weeks ago tugged at the back of his mind. He quickly pushed them away. Guilt was not a feeling he was accustomed to and he found he had a strong dislike for it. "Playing with fire is a bit dangerous don't you think? Why the obsession?" This wasn't the first time he had caught her staring at fire.

A smile played on her lips as her eyes followed the flickering of the flame. "It's dangerous by nature. It consumes, destroys, leaving nothing in its wake if it can help it. Yet we use it all the same. Such a small spark can light a room or burn a finger. It's essential for life. We need its warmth, its light, its ability to cook food. So we control it. Keep it small. Containable. But it can't be controlled. Not for long." He watched as she extended her fingers above it, as if to touch the flames themselves. "There's a beauty to it. To know something you need could so quickly destroy you." Most people wouldn't call that beauty. Frightening would be closer. But he had learned that Lucyia was not most people. And there was a strange kind of sense to what she was saying.

"You're drawn to the dangerous then?"

She smiled warmly. "I married you didn't I?", she said in her soft voice.

"Aye that you did you foolish girl" he said, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"How was the meeting with your father?" she asked looking up to meet his face.

"I leave in a few days for battle."

"Oh" She hung her head, to his surprise, disappointed. "Do you know how long you will be gone?" He just shrugged. There was no way to know. Could be months.

"Why? Are you going to miss me?" He asked, a smug grin on his face as he raked his fingers through her hair.

"Of course" she answered. He let his hand fall and trace down her neck. "Then how about I give you something to remember me by."

"W-What would that be?" her voice catching in her throat at his touch.

"An heir" Her face turned red as she looked down away from him, her lips twitching. He had her blushing, still after all the months they had been married. She lifted her head back up laughing, causing him to scrunch his eyebrows in confusion.

"I'm…I'm already pregnant."

 _Oh._

* * *

The smell of smoke seared the inside of Ramsay's nose. Winterfell was still as much of a burnt husk as when they left. They hadn't run into too much trouble yet. Just a few skirmishes. A pity. Now he was utterly bored. It was times like this that he missed Reek. He was always good for occupying his time. But his dear friend had left him shortly before Lucyia had arrived. He was calling himself something else now. Theon. A horrible name really.

Now all he had were some soldiers, while amusing at times often just annoyed him, his father, and…Walda. His father, in planning to move to Winterfell permanently, had brought along his very pregnant wife. She was due any day and if the child was a boy….well that was going to be a problem. It'd be easier to just get rid of both mother and baby. But for some damn reason, Lucyia liked her. So, he'd figure something out. Maybe if he talked to the maester…

His father stood in front of a large table with a map of the region outstretched. Scouts had reported Stark forces far off but headed in this direction.

"How do you plan to hold Winterfell?" he found himself asking his father more so out of boredom then interest. Ramsay was not foolish. He knew simply sacking Winterfell did not win them the hold. The Starks would always have claim to it through blood rights should there be any of them left. Enough fear and violence could secure it, but his father would say otherwise.

"It would be easier if you weren't married. We could use Sansa." He answered, eyes still transfixed on the map before him. They had received a letter from Baelish several months ago with the proposal. He had fully expected his father to call off his betrothal to Lucyia, but for the most part his father was a man of his word.

"Though your wife might not survive the birthing bed." The tone to his voice gave Ramsay reason to believe there was no _might_ about it. He knew very well what his father was suggesting.

"Am I to be a widower twice?" he chuckled.

"You didn't have a problem getting rid of the first one.", his father replied curtly.

He felt the edges of his lips curve into a dark grin. He already knew exactly what he was going to do. "No, I didn't"

* * *

Mal leaned against the stone wall of his cell. There was little light besides the torches on the walls and even those couldn't pierce through the darkness that plagued his new home. He had been sent to scout out the Bolton forces for the Umbers. He'd observed the battle outside of Winterfell and found out all he needed to know. He had almost made it back too but instead he had ended up here. He should have known better than to have ridden so close to the Dreadfort. It was surprising though that he hadn't been executed on the spot.

The door to his cell swung open and he was quickly dragged out. He hadn't been here long. He had assumed they were going to let him rot for a few days so he'd talk. But now he realized how foolish that was. These were Boltons. They had other ways of gaining information. They strapped him to one of the large wooden Xs, none too gently. It was then he heard the click of heeled boots on the stone.

"There's food in the kitchens. Why don't you all go eat and leave us for a few" The command came from a small woman. It was the middle of the night but she dressed and had her hair styled as if she was attending afternoon tea.

"Lord Ramsay gave us commands not to leave you alone" a guard said softly, almost with fear. He was a tall man, thin faced with blond hair. There was a flap of skin where one of his eyes should have been.

"Lord Ramsay is not here. Now please, the three of you go grab something to eat." She said more firmly. They all looked at each other a moment confused on what to do before they finally left. She walked forward into the room, allowing him to get a better view of her. She definitely wasn't Fat Walda. She was a fair young woman and at least a few months pregnant.

"I hope you don't mind if I sit" she said as she pushed a large chair in front of him. "I'm Lady Lucyia and you?" she smiled, finally getting herself arranged in her seat. Lucyia? He didn't recognize the name, though he had never been good with names. But if she was here, a lady, and wasn't Lady Walda then there was only one person she could be. The Bruised Bolton. Ramsay's wife. He had heard horrible stories of what that man had done to her. It was said she was always seen with bruises and scars from him. From the position he was in he could see a long jagged scar across her collar bone that went beneath her dress. But looking at her now he couldn't see any bruises, though that may have been due to the fact that her husband had been gone for a few months now. It was also said she was a sweet girl. The poor thing. To be stuck with him of all people.

"It's Mal, Lady Bolton." He answered. He didn't plan on giving her much information. Not anything important anyways. What would this girl do anyhow?

She smiled politely, "Oh no, Lady Walda is Lord Bolton's wife. I'm married to Lord Ramsay." Hadn't she heard? Were they getting no ravens?

"Lord Bolton died milady" Her eyes grew wide at that. She didn't know.

"How?"

Mal wasn't really sure how the man had died. It had been at Winterfell that much was for sure. But there had been rumors that it had been at Ramsay's hands.

"I don't know milady. I wasn't there."

"I see" she murmured head down in thought. "Is there anything else you can tell me? Is my husband still there?" He just shook his head. He couldn't give out any more information. There was a tension to the air now as she sat there in her chair and he hung strung up to a board.

"I'm sure your husband will be a fine lord. He's a good man." It was a lie and a bad one. But what else was he to say? Best not to insult his captor even if she was such a small woman.

She laughed at that. "If he were a good man he'd be dead." So the girl did know how bad her husband was.

"I'm sure he must love you dearly" Another lie.

Her gaze fluttered down at that, a sad smile forming on her face. "He loves me the best he can. That's more than most have"

She thought Ramsay loved her. Mal was certain that was a mistake. That demon loved nothing but causing people misery.

"Mayhaps your love will soothe him milady." But maybe, just maybe if he really did love her he'd settle down. Though that was as hopeless a wish as wanting this damned war to finally end.

 ***** Her laugh was sharp as she shook her head. She sat back, further in her seat and raised an eyebrow to him. "I watched him kill a Forrester. Ethan. He had just become lord. He was only thirteen, I believe. Lord Ramsay ran a blade clean through his neck." Placing a hand on her own, she indicated the spot. "The boy died in his mother's arms."

From the stories he had heard of Lord Ramsay this was not surprising. But she told it with so little emotion. There had to be a point to the lady's story though. "Why?"

She just shrugged. "Lord Ethan had offended him. My husband has little tolerance. Or perhaps he simply did it to amuse himself. You see sir," Mal watched as she raised herself from her seat and walked ever so gracefully over to him, determination and power behind every step. "You cannot soothe a monster. You either get destroyed or become one." The edges of her lips twisted uncomfortably and something wild had formed in her eyes. "So, I'll ask you once" With a speed he hadn't expected, she thrusted her hidden blade up next to his throat. "Where is my husband?"

The knife shook against his throat. The blade just did meet the skin. This woman wouldn't hurt him. She was just scared, abused by a horrible man. She had shown him kindness in this cell. That same person couldn't bring him harm. "I…we can help each other. I can take you away from here. You just have to let me out." Her brow furrowed at him, but the blade slowly fell away. She ran her hand gently over his arm. The blade rolled in her hand as she turned it, looking at it wistfully. It was small and sharp, adorned with a jeweled handle.

"He gave this to me before he left" she continued in her soft tone. "He was teaching me to…" She seemed to drift off into her own thoughts."….the noises would bother me so. The Boltons…I'm sure you know what we do to our enemies."

"You could never do that milady. You're kind." He interrupted.

Her head shot back up, surprised at his remark. "I would do _anything_ for my family. Screams no longer bother me." Before he could realize what was happening his arm felt as though it was on fire. Her face twisted into something vile as she tore the knife across his arm. _The pain. The pain._ He wailed. _Make it stop. Make it stop_. "Now tell me" she sneered. "Where. Is. My. Husband."

* * *

Ramsay stood in the field outside the walls of his home. A sea of Starks and their bannermen opposed them. They had been fighting off and on for months and now it had led to his gates. The timing was absolutely horrible. But besides that he was having a lovely time.

He had just brought his sword down onto someone's head when one of his soldiers ran up to him. "My lord" he started half out of breath. "Before the battle's finished" he retorted, already irritated with the man. "There's no change, m'lord" Ramsay stared down the man from a top his horse. Well this just wasn't going to do. He slid down and came face to face with him. "No change? Shame." "I'm sor-" but before the man had finished Ramsay had sunk a blade into his throat. He didn't have time for useless reports.

"You!" He called to the nearest soldier. "Go to the Dreadfort and bring me something besides 'no change'." The soldier quickly nodded and took off. Taking just a quick moment, Ramsay stuck his free hand in his pocket, running his fingers across the embroidery of his nameday present. It was about time to bring this battle to a close.

* * *

The battle was starting to wane, so where was that damned soldier? He lifted his sword, striking someone in the chest and further irritating his wound. He had been hit in the stomach. The wound was only skin deep, but the leather from his armor kept sticking to it and pulling it open. Fully annoyed, he took his knife and tore it off. He'd fight better this way anyhow.

Mere minutes later, the battle was over. The Starks called a retreat. This wouldn't be the last time they fought. In fact, if he wasn't so pressed for time he'd follow and hunt them down. But something else called his attention.

* * *

He pushed the door to the great hall open, tossing his sword to the side. Cheers and cries of victory soared as he entered. The hall was loud and crowded. What men had made it back and weren't injured were here. He pushed past them all, making his way to the maester's tower. He had almost made it to the door when one of the nursemaids walked out.

"Lord Bolton!" she gasped. "Stay here. I'll get the maester." She turned to go back into the room, but he pushed her aside. "You can't go in there" she argued, aghast at the very idea. Fuck her. He'd go where he wanted. This room felt just as crowded as the great hall. What was the need for so many people? They all turned and stared at him as he entered. And for a moment it was eerily quiet, save for the crying, as they stared in confusion at the intruder.

"Ramsay" he heard Lucyia breathe, but he couldn't see her through this small army. He tried to push through but they pushed back. Shouts of "You can't be in here" and "This isn't proper" rang out. The maester appeared then, a tall bald headed man. "Lord Bolton, I'll see to your wounds in the next room." No. This was his home. His wife. He would not be told what to do. All the letters they had exchanged over the months were nowhere close to satisfying. He wanted her.

"Get out." He glowered. Confused glances passed between the maester and the nursemaids.

"But my lord, your wounds-" The maester tried to reason, completely bewildered.

"Is she okay?"

"She's fine but-"

"Then out!" He motioned his arm to the door but they all just continued to stare.

"Are you deaf or stupid?" He laughed sharply. "Get out." That was enough to get most of the women out of the way.

"They haven't even been properly cleaned" argued the last nursemaid. "I'll have my dogs lick you clean till there's nothing left if you don't leave" Receiving the message, she rushed out the door.

And then they were alone. He could see her now, laying on the bed across the room. She was naked, except for necklace that clung to her throat. Her legs covered in blood and the rest of her body covered in sweat. Her hair was sticking to her neck and cheeks, and her face was red with exhaustion. She had never looked better to him then right then.

"How much of that is yours?" she asked, eyes transfixed on the blood. He looked down and noticed just how bad he looked. Honestly, he wasn't sure which stains were his and which were someone elses.

He just shrugged as he walked over to the bed, lying next to her. His son squirmed in her arms, screaming his head off. She took the edge of the sheet from the bed, wiped the blood from his face and took him to her breast to feed.

"He best be careful. Those are mine." He quipped, earning a tired smile from his wife.

"I'm sure he'll be far more gentle than his father." She retorted back. But the humor soon left her voice. "You should let the maester check on you." How cute. She was worried about him

He reached an arm around her, pulling them close and resting his head on hers. He'd scared everyone in the room out. There was no worry of anyone walking in. No one to bother them.

"In a few minutes" he promised. "I won't be brought down by a graze to the stomach."

"I missed you" she admitted in a small voice. He couldn't help but laugh. "Of course you did." She huffed, annoyed at him for ruining her sweet moment. She ought to know by now he wasn't made for those. But he'd humor her. He placed a kiss to the top of her head, burying his face in her hair. "I missed you too" he just barely whispered. He really had.


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello everyone! Just wanted to let you know that this and the next chapter take place 20 years later. Sorry if that seems like too much. I had stories ideas that could fill that time frame, but I thought that would take away from the meaning/theme/purpose of this story. I may post those chapters apart from this story if I ever get them written and if there is interest. Another thing, the last chapter will be late and I am so sorry for that. It's not finished yet and I usually have them done a week ahead of time so I can edit. Hopefully, it won't take more than 2 weeks. ENJOY!**

* * *

She sat kneeled in front of the weirwood. The cold of the ground had long ago numbed her knees. The Godswood cut off most of the wind, so no cloak was required. Even summer air could bring a chill in the North.

 _Keep them safe. Protect my family. Watch over my children when I am unable. Guide my husband._

That was her daily prayer. And for the most part, the Gods seemed to heed her prayers. Though Ramsay would claim otherwise. He had never had a love for the Gods. In truth he had love for very little. But he claimed all of their successes as their own. Lucyia knew better though. The Boltons were a feared house and for good reason. They committed the most grievous of sins and very little remorse was ever truly felt. Many of them she had done herself. She didn't pray for forgiveness. She didn't want it. That wasn't what this was about. Her husband alone had committed the unforgivable sin of kinslaying when he disposed of his father. The Old Gods demanded very little, but that was something they would not tolerate. Lucyia didn't question her husband's judgement on the matter. He had his reasons. But so did the Gods. All of this had happened so long ago. And yet the Gods had seen it fit to keep them living and relatively unharmed. There were many houses that secretly wished them dead. Even the Starks. Especially the Starks. They had reclaimed Winterfell long ago but the Bolton's were still the Wardens of the North. There was peace between them now, an uneasy peace but peace all the same. Ramsay could claim all of these successes for himself. But Lucyia knew that without the Gods they'd already be dead. So she kept praying and she'd continue to do so with her last breath if that's what helped keep her family alive.

It wasn't much longer when she felt the familiar press on her shoulders.

"Still praying for another husband?" The dark laugh of her husband cut through the air. He asked her that every time he found her here. Raising her head she looked to a face that had grown so familiar to her over the years. "You would need the help of the gods at your age." She snorted and shook her head at his jape. Placing one of her hands over his, she spoke "As if I can't see the grey in your hair, love"

He scoffed his mock offense. "There are plenty of woman who would die to have me for their husband" _More likely die because you are their husband._ His voice was low as he leaned down towards her. He ran his fingers tight around her neck before snaking them through her hair, knocking the pins loose. "But only you could make it this long"

"So you're not bored of me yet, my lord?"

From the corner of her eye she could see the edges of his lips curling, the hint of a smile playing on them. "My lady, you are the least boring person I know."

"Then I think after all these years and four children I'll keep you.", she slyly spoke as she began to raise herself up off the ground.

"Well that's a relief" he snarked as she pinned her hair back into place. "You've been keeping me waiting you know." He continued. "We're supposed to be hunting."

She hadn't forgotten. Merely lost track of time. "My apologies. Just let me retrieve my cloak."

She turned to find that he already had it in hand. He was in far too much of a hurry to wait for her to put it on herself. With a deftness, he wrapped it around her shoulders and latched the strap. An arm was extended to her and she gladly took it following her husband out of the Godswoods.

* * *

He pulled his horse to a stop as he surveyed the area. The hounds had run well ahead of him, sniffing and barking at a small patch of blood. As if the broken limbs from a nearby bush didn't make it obvious enough that it had come through this way. He sat and listened, shushing the dogs. In the quiet he could hear the further snapping of twigs not too far off. Well this wasn't going to be any fun if it was going to be this easy. He rode his horse forward through the bushes and crowded trees. His wife followed close behind atop her own horse.

But it was the strangest thing. It wasn't there. He was sure….oh well. The dogs scratched around, looking to pick up the scent again.

"Don't tell me _the_ Lord Bolton has lost his prey" he heard Lucyia quip. He could almost feel that cocky smirk on her face. And sure enough when he turned there it was, plastered to her face. His eyes narrowed as he looked about the trees before falling back on her with a smirk of his own.

"When's the last time I fucked you against one of those?"

"It's been a few moons, though I do believe there is still some bark left in my back" She arched her back as though she could feel it. He knew well enough the scars were still there if nothing else. Underneath that pretty dress of hers were plenty of other scars he had given her through the years. Though, he had his fair share from her as well.

A bark from the dogs was enough to turn his attention back. Driving the horses forward once again they followed. And there he was. Ramsay drew his bow and let the arrow fly the distance. It hit its target. Square in the leg. The man fell to the ground, hobbling and crying out in pain as he tried to rip the arrow out. But this wasn't the first arrow the man had gotten today. Ramsay had shot him in the shoulder earlier. And now, he could see a visible blood soaked arrow wound on the man's side. He could only assume it came from Mara.

Sliding off his horse, he walked over to the man now slumped on the ground leaning against a tree. He had him cornered now. Nowhere to go. So he blew the signal. Wide eyes of terror stared back at him.

"Please, don't kill me" he begged. All Ramsay could do was laugh. "Oh I'm not going to." There was a momentary look of relief on the man's face before he continued. "My children are." And right on cue he heard the crashing of Mara barreling her way through bushes. On foot of course.

"Shit. I was this close." She cursed, bow slung over her arm. He heard Lucyia huff. She hated hearing her children curse.

"Mara, manners." She chided her. "What's it matter if I curse in front of a fucking dead man?" Mara complained, ever the lady. She was the exact opposite of her mother. Though she could pull out the charm and ladylike behavior when she wanted to.

"Hold your tongue or lose it" He warned. He honestly didn't care either way. But there was no need in disrespecting her mother. She grumbled in response but obeyed nonetheless.

A moment later, Ryece and Corren rode up together. He'd never seen siblings look so different. Ryece looked just like his mother, dark brown hair, round face, and green eyes. Mara looked just like him, paler skin, black hair, blue eyes. She was actually an inch taller than her older brother. And Corren. Corren didn't look like anyone. With his dusty brown hair and dark brown eyes.

Ryece walked up next to him, sword drawn. But Ramsay held a hand out, stopping him. "Let your brother do it." He silently nodded as he stepped back, sheathing his sword.

"Come on." He waved his hesitant son over. "It's easy. Like putting down a dog."

Half jumping off his horse, the boy made his way over. He stopped about four steps in, hand on his sword belt. Ramsay watched the confusion pass over the young boy's face before his eyes widen in realization.

"I forgot my sword." Corren admitted.

"You forgot-" Ramsay rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. "You forgot to bring your sword on a hunt" he exclaimed exasperated. How does that even happen? Corren was far too much like his namesake.

Corren cowered, hanging his head. "Sorry pa-Father."

"He's just a boy Ramsay." Lucyia said, still sitting back on her horse.

He threw his head back in a laugh. "A boy? He's ten. Basically a man grown. Isn't that right Corren?"

He nodded his head vigorously. So eager to prove himself. He held his knife out to the boy. He couldn't very well give him his sword. Corren would likely just topple over with the weight of it, he was so small. They really should feed him more.

"Father" Corren said, looking past him. "Hmm?" "The man's crawling away." Ramsay turned in the direction he was pointing to and sure enough the man was half crawling, half dragging himself serval yards away, a trail of blood left smeared in the snow.

Corren stood there, staring at him and expecting him to do something. "Well, what are you waiting for? He can only crawl so fast." And with that, he gave his son's shoulder a push forward sending him off.

"Should we send someone with him?" Lucyia's brow scrunched in concerned as her eyes followed their son.

"It's 20 yards, at best." He assured walking over to her. "he's fine"

Taking her by the hips, he turned her so that her body faced him. With both legs on the same side of the saddle her dress flowed down. Her hood was pulled hiding most of her face and pinned back hair. Now why would she do a thing like that?

"Take your hair down" he commanded, hands still resting on her hips. She raised an eyebrow to him, lifting back her hood in the process. "My hair will be wet from the snow now" she said as she let her hair fall. He didn't rightly care. He wanted to see her and now he could. There were a few pieces of silver in her hair, glinting with the sun and snow. Her eyes shown down at him as she graced him with a smile.

It was then he felt the twisted grin on his face. "How about we use one of those trees over there while we wait?"

She scoffed like she was offended, but she returned the grin all the same. "The children are right there." She gestured behind him.

He looked behind him to see Ryece and Mara had ungracefully sat themselves down in the snow, the dogs running around them. "They're grown" He said turning back to her. And in a lustful suggestive tone, "We've done worse"

But he received no answer. Because the hounds thought this would be a lovely time to bark their heads off. They all shared a look of confusion as the dogs ran about in a circle, barking and growling at something they couldn't see. The oldest one, Tansy, stopped her circling to run over to him. Gripping the end of his pants leg she began to pull him. He leaned down to push her off, when he heard it. The unmistakable sound of an arrow firing past his ear.

A gasp from his wife had him turning to her just in time to see the look of horror spread over her face. "Ramsay" she breathed, her eyes wide as she clutched at where the arrow had entered her. Blood from her stomach spewed over her hands as she began to fall forward.

He caught her, falling to his knees as he cradled her. Quickly, he turned in the direction the arrow was fired from. A pair of eyes were staring back down at him from a tree as someone yelled, "The North Remembers."

* * *

 _A lady fair and small smiled in the snow_

 _With eyes of ice watching from the tower above_

 _A monster tall and strong waited in the dark_

 _Circling, circling, it had cruel intentions of love_

 _It stole her away in the dead of the night,_

 _Taking her to a place the gods had forgot_

" _The monster's lady" he growled at her_

 _Through the torture she shunned him not_

 _She'd just smile sweetly "The lady's monster."_

 _For they were one in the same and a monster she became_

 _A lady fair and small played in the snow_

 _With eyes of fire watching from the tower above_

 _A monster tall and strong protecting her in the dark_

 _Circling, circling with their cruel ideas of love_

Corren sang the song in his head over and over again as he sat hidden in the bushes. The Monster's Lady, it was his parents' favorite song. He found himself wishing a monster would come and save him. To protect him in the dark. He had ran and hid when he heard all the noise. Barking, shouting, cursing. He had gotten scared. So, here he was all alone in the woods.

And now the noises were back. The sound of horses running by and people shouting his name. They knew his name, but how could he be sure he could trust them? All of the guards sounded the same to him after a while. What if they were someone else's' soldiers? What did they want with him? If only he could see who they were. Holding the knife close to him, he crawled slowly forward. But he hadn't even reached to pull back a limb when he was ripped backwards.

Hands grabbed him by the leg and roughly dragged him out. He screamed and blindly thrusted the blade forward. A hand caught his wrist, followed by a dark laugh, before he could hit anything.

"Were you trying to stab me with my own knife?"

He knew that voice! He opened his eyes he hadn't realized he had closed. "Papa!" he exclaimed as he threw his arms around the man kneeling on the ground before him. Corren could feel his father shaking. The cold had never bothered him that badly.

"Alright" Papa said with a pat on the back as he lifted him onto the horse. "What possessed you to run off like that?" he asked as he saddled up behind him.

"I heard the screaming and…I got scared." He admitted. "Is Mother okay?" The reins stilled in his father's hands.

"Why wouldn't she be?"

"You shouted her name" He had assumed his mother had gotten hurt by the way father shouted. He didn't truly yell very often. Not like that.

"She's fine" he answered with a laugh. But it was short and father didn't talk for the rest of the ride. He was beginning to think he was being lied to.

* * *

 **Please forgive me for my terrible song writing. I did try.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Let me first begin by saying I am so so so so sorry this is late. I started a new job and things just got really hectic. This chapter ended up a lot longer than I had originally planned, mainly because I kept giving people pov's. I literally just finished this so it hasn't gone through it's normal editing process. But I figured since I had made everyone wait so long that I'd go a head a post it. Again, I'm sorry for the wait. I hope everyone has enjoyed the story. I've enjoyed writing. And I hope you like the chapter. I actually wrote this whole story based off of the closing scene. So, I've had this planned for quite some time.**

 **Sorry for any grammatical errors, I'll try to work those out as I catch them. ENJOY!**

* * *

Ryece walked down the empty stone hallway to his parents' bedchamber. The echo of his boots on the stone was the only sound that could be heard. It had been years since he had actually seen the inside of the room. He only ventured there now so that he could catch a glimpse of his mother. It had been days since the attack and she wasn't getting any better. The maester had treated the wound with ease. In truth the wound itself hadn't been that harmful. But the arrow had been poisoned, and he had no cure for it. He had said the best thing they could do for her was give her milk of the poppy and let her sleep. Or go ahead and end it. Father hadn't liked either of those answers. Ryece was honestly surprised he hadn't slashed the maester's throat right then and there. But instead, his father just reached down scoping up his mother and carried her off from the maester's tower to their rooms.

So now she suffered slowly. They all knew she was dying. Father just didn't want to admit it. He passed no guards or maids as he walked. Father had threatened them all from the hall. The only other person even near the hall was Heath, his mother's guard, who stood at the entrance. Surprisingly, getting by him unseen had not been difficult. Ryece shouldn't be here. He knew that. But this may be his last chance to ever see her. No one had seen Father in days. The only time he had left her side was when he went to look for Corren the day they were attacked. He was held up in the room with her. So, Ryece was going to have to be careful to not be seen.

As he came closer to the door, he walked slower making his footsteps quieter. Ever so slowly, he opened the door a few inches. Just a large enough gap for him to see through. As he leaned towards the opening, he felt a blast of heat. It felt as though the whole room was a sauna. The brazier in the middle of the room was burning higher than he'd ever seen one. And as he looked over he saw his mother in the bed under a pile of furs. It must have been the poison in her system, making her sick. She was shivering as though she were cold, even though it was hotter than Dorne in there. Her skin had gone ghostly pale and her eyes were barely opened.

His father was sitting in a chair by the bed, half slung over the side as he held her limp hand. He wasn't even fully dressed, whether that was from the heat or distress Ryece wasn't sure. He'd never seen his father treat her, or anyone for that matter, so gently. He was always so domineering, grabbing her when and where he pleased. Though Mother never seemed to mind. But now, Ryece watched as his Father treated her as if she were made of glass, ready to shatter at any moment. He was talking to her in a tone too low for him to hear, as he wiped the sweat from her brow. What words she could get out were barely above a whisper.

* * *

Lucyia shook heavily despite the pile of furs. She knew it had to be sweltering in their room. But she couldn't stop shaking. So cold. Like ice coursing through her veins. No amount of warmth could keep the cold at bay. She had told her husband as much when he lit the brazier. He'd simply told her to shut up and let him do as he wished. Though the cold was preferable to the intense pain that would rack her body when it left. Her head was heavy with a pressure building in the back. She was so sleepy. So tired. It was all she could do to focus on her husband's words. She just wanted to close her eyes…just for a moment. But every time she did she was shaken back awake.

"I was writing a letter to Walda…can you make sure it gets sent?" she asked turning her head towards the desk. She had no true concern for the letter. It was just harder to fall asleep while talking, no matter how labored her breathes may have seemed.

Ramsay huffed, rolling his eyes in the process. "You can send it in a few days."

Had she the energy, she would have laughed. She'd be lucky to make it through today. If you could call that luck. Ramsay was not a stupid man. He knew what was happening, but for some reason she couldn't understand he just refused to acknowledge it. Maybe this was easier for. And if that was the case she wasn't about to take that away from him.

She ran her fingers over the pendant of her necklace, her source of comfort in many situations over the years. Maybe it could be one for him too. She reached behind her neck in a clumsy fashion, trying to unclasp the chain. Ramsay raised an eye to her movements, confusion crossing his face. She just couldn't get her fingers to hold on long enough. She didn't even have enough energy to take off a necklace. But it made no matter, her hands were soon snatched away.

"Don't you _fucking_ dare" he growled, realizing what she was trying to do. She had meant him no offense. All she wanted was to give him something, a reminder of happier times before she was gone.

But his anger seemed to fade away with an unnerving laugh as he ran his fingers down the chain. "You can't be rid of me that easy. Whether it's hell or another life, I'll find you. So keep it" he finished, letting the chain fall back into place.

And then they fell into a silence again. It wasn't comfortable; it was like the air was filled with nothing but tension. She watched as he fidgeted in his seat, his aggravation becoming ever more apparent. He never had been one for patience. As he finally settled himself, his arm propped on the arm of the chair and head resting in his hand, he broke the tension…with more tension.

"Why did you marry me?" He asked it so suddenly it took her a moment to understand what he had said. The way he had said it had sounded like more of an accusation then a question, though there was no malice. She found herself looking over her mess of a husband, unkept and sleep deprived, asking questions that sounded nothing like him. After all these years, why would he ask her that now? Why would he ask her that at all? Ramsay didn't care why something happened, so long as he got his way. Besides, he knew exactly why. Her father had arranged it for aid in the war.

"Because my family needed-" but he cut her off with a growl.

"No. The real reason." The real reason? There weren't too many reasons to begin with. It wasn't as though she had really had a choice at the time. Though she knew that wasn't completely true. Had she told her father she wanted nothing to do with it he would have relented. But she never did. In truth, she would have been more upset had her father called it off. Ramsay had awoken something in her that she longed not to put to sleep again.

"You made me feel alive" she finally answered.

He laughed again, but there was no humor in it. "How fitting than, that I get to see you die."

 _Die_. He had finally said the words he had denied for days. As he slumped against the bed she saw his mask of anger and aggravation melt away. For days he had acted if this was nothing but an inconvenience to him. But that was just it. It was a hollow act with no real drive to make her believe it. Just a mummers farce he put on for himself.

He let out a long sigh, combing his hair back with his fingers. He kept his head down while finding and taking hold of her hand. "Love, I…" Love. He didn't call her that very often. Nor did he say _I love you_ as much as most women wish for their husbands to do. But she never minded. She didn't need his words. In fact, she didn't want them. He was a liar. It was hard to trust most things that came out of his mouth. But she felt that he loved her, even though he rarely said it. If he said it often enough, she'd just assume he was lying.

With what strength she did have left, she laced her fingers through his. She could feel the slight tremor of his body. He lifted his head, looking her in the eyes once again. There was a helpless look in his. She had never seen him this vulnerable. For the first time, she was truly worried about what would happen after she died. She hadn't even thought he'd mourn her for long. Her thoughts had mainly gone to their children and how they would handle it. She wanted to stay here…to comfort him…but she was tired….so tired…..

* * *

Ryece watched with confusion at the scene in front of him. Father pinched the bridge of his nose as his shoulders slumped forward, shaking. It was hard to tell, but he was either crying or laughing. Ryece had made it to his 20th name day without ever seeing his father cry. So it had to be the latter, though that in itself was more disturbing. Whichever it was, it didn't last long. As he watched his father move to sit on the bed by mother he quickly moved away from the door and out of view. A feeling of guilt weighed heavily on his chest. He shouldn't have been here. Those were private moments that hadn't been meant for his eyes. He turned to make his exit when he saw Corren making his way down the hallway.

He started to run but quickly remembered where he was. Instead, he just hastily walked over to his younger brother, blocking his path. "What are you doing?" he loudly whispered. "You can't be here." Corren definitely didn't need to see anything past that door.

"But mama-" he started to plead. Ryece couldn't be mad at him. He had done the same thing. As he looked back at the puffy brown eyes staring at him, he couldn't help but wonder. How had Corren manage to keep this air of timid innocence? More importantly where had it come from to start with? Certainly not from father. Maybe mother, but he felt as though Corren should have outgrown that by now.

"Needs to rest", was the only reply he could think of. Lying and telling him she was okay wasn't going to get him anywhere. And he'd find out soon enough how wrong that was. "Come on" he said, taking Corren by the hand. "Let's find Mara"

He felt relieved when they came towards the end of the long hallway, no longer worried about the noises they made or if they'd be caught. What did it matter if they were seen at this point? As they turned the corner, he caught sight of Heath intently watching over the entrance. He hadn't looked that enthralled when he came by. As they walked passed him, the guard gave them a nod. It was then Ryece realized that Heath had let them pass. He had known they were there the whole time. Well so much for being sneaky.

* * *

He found Mara in the same place he always found her, in the courtyard shooting at targets. Though it seemed as if she had another purpose besides mere practice. Her bitter grumbling became more apparent the closer he got. For a moment he considered leaving her be. But it was usually best to curb Mara's anger in one way or another, lest she shoot at something else besides targets.

She released yet another arrow into what was already a full target. "I think it's dead" He said in attempt for a jape. The piercing look she sent told him she hadn't found it in the least bit funny.

"I'd prefer to be killing something else" She sneered. She'd been desperate to get into the cell for days. He'd mostly been able to stop her. That was their father's revenge. And gods help whoever took that from him.

"You know that's not our place."

She threw her head back in a sharp laugh. "You're always so damned worried about your 'place'. Keep that up and one day you'll find it's at the wrong end of a sword."

Ryece just sighed. Did she have to be so volatile? "You shot him out of the tree. Isn't that enough?"

"Why aren't you angry?" It was half a question, half an accusation.

But he was. He wanted nothing more than to slice the man's face off and sew it back on inside out. But he knew how to control himself. And most of the time so did Mara, though she had been known to lose her temper. She was very good at pretending, acting like the sweet shy woman most lords wanted to be around. She had a way of bending people to her will, so much so that sometimes Ryece wasn't entirely sure if he knew who his sister really was. It was times like this when she couldn't quite hold it together in front him that he realized how close they were.

"Killing him won't get us the information we need"

"He screamed The North Remembers. What else do we need? We kill him then kill all the bloody Starks."

"Just because he said that doesn't mean the Starks sent him"

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Of course you'd think that. You just want to protect your precious little …" But her sentenced slowed and began to trail off until it was nothing but air. Her eyes had widened at something she had seen beyond Ryece's shoulder. The look of concern and shock that crossed her face was enough to make him turn around.

It was a sight he hadn't fully expected to see. Their Father. Now fully dressed, he strolled through the courtyard as if he didn't have a care in the world. Ryece caught Mara's eye and they both exchanged a knowing look. Mother was gone. As father got closer it was easier to notice the toll he had gone through in the past several days, whether he was going to act like it happened or not. The dark rims under his eyes told Ryece he hadn't slept in days, more than likely adding to his unhinged behavior.

Father grazed right past them, almost unware they were even there. It wasn't until Mara spoke that he even acknowledged them.

"Father, if you're going to the cells I can help."

"I think I'll manage" He answered without stopping. Ryece prayed then. He prayed Mara wasn't about to do what he thought she was. This wasn't the time.

In her anger she forgot herself. Tossing down her bow she almost shouted, "You have no right to deny me that! Let me down-" But her sentenced stopped abruptly when he turned to look at her. The disturbed smile that slowly formed across Father's face most have reminded her.

In an almost casual manner, her strolled back over until he was face to face with her. "I've no right?" he spoke in an almost laugh. He grabbed her roughly by the chin, fingers pinching into each side. "You'll find that I have every right." For the most part Ryece could tell Mara was steeling her face of emotion as the two of them held their staring match. Father had never hurt one of them. But nor did he make empty threats and the expression on his face was threatening far more than a slap on the wrist.

Finally, Father relented, releasing Mara from his grips. But not before leaving her with an actual threat.

"Learn to hold your tongue or I'll send you to a fucking Frey. As is my right" At the mentions of Frey Mara wrinkled her nose in disgust. Still unwed, Father had the right to marry Mara to whoever he wished. Knowing their father was good for his word, she kept quiet as he walked off without her.

Ryece stood next to his sister for a moment not knowing what to do. She stood still, hands clenched beside her and head turned away. He reached out to place a hand on her shoulder when she unexpectedly turned, shrugging him off. She reached down, picking up her bow before she stormed off.

* * *

Mara stood next to her grandmother as they laid her mother in the ground. The expression the older woman wore was tight and drawn. Ryece had sent word to their mother's family soon after the attack. Grandmother and Uncle Braydon and Damien had arrived not long after. Uncle Braydon had been livid when none of them had been allowed to see her. Grandmother hadn't been pleased either. She just wasn't as vocal about it. She understood her uncle's distress. Father seemed to be making an already hard time that much more difficult. _Arse._

Grandmother let out a long sigh, interrupting Mara's thoughts. "Well, I truly did not expect her to live this long."

Mara raised an eye to that. "What do you mean Grandmother?"

"I expected my daughter to die not long after Ryece's arrival. It would seem for all his perversions he cared enough to keep her alive this long." There was genuine surprise in the old woman's voice. Mara knew that her grandmother didn't hold her father in high esteem. Though she had never explicitly said such, Grandmother was not a practiced liar. Her distaste was written all over her face any time she was near Father. And sometimes, though not often, Mara found her grandmother giving her the same look. Whenever Grandmother visited she did her best to keep Mara away from Father, saying she was too much like him. Mara didn't see anything wrong with that.

Father stood not too far off from them, only a couple of feet ahead. He was in a dark mood. She could almost feel it radiating off of him. Even she knew to hold her tongue today of all days. It wasn't wise for her grandmother to begin speaking this way. Why had she chosen now of all times?

"Grandmother, father…" She started, cautiously, almost as if speaking to a child.

"I am an old woman. If your father wishes to kill me he may do so", she brushed off.

Offset by her grandmother's answer, Mara looked about the group of people surrounding them to distract herself. Working his way through, came Corren followed by Heath. Father had assigned him to her younger brother after mother….well. For a moment, Mara was confused on where Corren was intending to go. As she watched, it became obvious.

"Corren" she called loud enough to get his attention, but not harshly. He was attempting to get to Father. Right now that just wasn't a wise choice. He walked over, slipping his hand in hers as Heath went to stand behind them. He was silent as he kept his gaze set on the ground. The only sound that came from him was the occasional sniffle. His eyes were red, on the verge of tears. Mara could tell he was trying so hard to keep them in.

"It's okay to cry" she spoke softly, startling him. No one would blame a boy of ten for crying at his mother's funeral.

He looked up to her wide eyed as he asked, "Why aren't you crying?"

Because all her tears were gone. She had used them all up in anger and grief the night after Mother had died. It had been stupid and reckless. Thinking back on it now just made her mad. She couldn't believe how quickly she had managed to lose her composure. She was stronger than that. But still it had happened.

After Father had refused her vengeance, she was seething. Trying to keep up appearances, she went to the one place no one would be staring at her. The Godswoods. Just encase, she made sure no one was there. It was empty like she had expected. Finally, alone she didn't know what to do with herself. She prayed for a while…well she tried to. She had never been very good at it. Hours went by and the longer she sat there the angrier she got. At Father. At the archer. At the gods. And at this ridiculous heart tree staring back at her with its mocking eyes. So she cursed it, kicking it in the trunk. But its lack of response just fueled her anger. It was the middle of the night when Ryece found her screaming at the thrice damned tree, attempting to shot it full of arrows. He said nothing as he approached her, taking the bow from her hands. She didn't have the energy to resist. He pulled her into his arms then and it wasn't until her face was securely buried in his chest that she even realized she was crying.

"So I can watch after you" she answered her brother with a soft smile. Corren tried to give her one back, but his face broke out into a sob instead. She squeezed the hand she was holding and ran her other one through his hair in an attempt to sooth him.

"There's hope for you yet dear"

She tilted her head towards her grandmother to ask her what she could have meant by that, but the old woman was already focused on something else.

"I suppose we'll be attending two funerals today"

Mara followed her grandmother's gaze to see Uncle Braydon approaching Father.

* * *

Ramsay stared down at the ground for what felt like an eternity. Staring at his wife's lifeless body did him no good. She just laid there so still and close he could almost touch her. He was use to death. He'd lost count long ago of the amount of it he caused. But it was never like this. The bodies were usually so far gone that they didn't look like bodies. Didn't look like people. They weren't people to him. But this was his wife and the longer he looked the more he expected Lucyia to just sit up as though she'd been sleeping.

He didn't have time for this. There were plans to make. His friend in the cells required his attention as well. All this standing around wasn't doing him any good. At least the damned bells weren't ringing. They had rung after all their children were born. And they had rung when their youngest daughter Evelyne had died of a fever not long after birth. He was sick and damned tired of bells. So, he made sure this time that whoever did it would lose that ability should they even look in its direction.

This was taking far too long. He wanted to leave. He didn't like down time and standing around. With nothing to preoccupy it, his mind tended to wonder. And he didn't like where it went. There would be this heavy feeling in his chest, a pounding ache in his head, and a tight knot in his stomach. This had happened briefly after Evelyne died. But this was something far worse. No, it was easier to focus on battle plans and sharpening his flaying knife for further use.

It was then that he heard the heavy fall of boots beside him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Braydon standing at his side. Well, Lord Blackthorn in truth, since his predecessor had been dead near ten years now. Ramsay didn't bother to turn to face him. Arms crossed in front of him, Braydon seemed unwilling to move as well.

"I suppose you have a plan." He finally spoke. Ramsay could have laughed right then. In all the years he had known him Braydon had never once willing spoke to him. It was only after prodding from his mother, sister, or antagonizing from Ramsay that he ever even uttered a word to him.

Though it seemed now that Braydon was almost as angry as Ramsay himself. That must have been a good enough push for him.

"Aye." He said, his lip curling into a grin. It was then that he turned his head towards Braydon. "We kill them all"

Braydon returned the expression. "You'll need help for that."

Good. Now the real plans could begin and he could focus on something else besides…this.

* * *

Ramsay rolled his eyes in annoyance at the man behind the cell door.

"No…no please" he shirked away, bracing himself in the corner. He was younger than Ramsay. Late twenties maybe. He was surprised the man could even hold a bow given how scrawny he was. Though that may have been because Ramsay had ordered the guards not to give him any food until he could make it down here himself.

For days he had tortured the man, taking him to the brink of what a human body could withstand. Ramsay had withdrawn all the information he needed from him with in a day. Everything else was just payment due. The man, whose name was insignificant, was sent by the Karstarks. They were apparently very good at holding a grudge. They wanted to ignite a war between the Starks and Boltons. Which Ramsay had to admit was smart. Get rid of two enemies at once. And they would get their wish. He'd go after the Starks and every last one of their bannermen, right after wiping the Karstarks off of Westeros.

As for the poor bastard in front of him, well he'd chosen the wrong person to shoot and had paid for it dearly. The man could hardly stand, though that was no surprise seeing as Ramsay had taken several of his toes. He would have taken more but he didn't want to drag the sod, too much effort. He had taken some fingers as well and a couple of teeth. Not to mention that the man's right arm festered with burns. It had been an eventful few days.

"Now don't be like that" he mocked disappointment. "I've planned something just for you. You don't want to disappoint me do you?"

The man hung his head, a small whimper escaping, as he meekly came forward. "Good man. Onward then" Ramsay said in delight, clasping him on the shoulder as he led him from the cells.

The man stumbled up the steps as Ramsay pushed him, almost tripping several times before Ramsay let him fall against the hard stone. Picking him up roughly by the neck, they continued on this way until they reached the open air. Ramsay felt the man shiver as he caught a glimpse of the woods line.

"Oh don't worry yourself. I've no plans to hunt you." At that the man's face of panic switch to one of confusion but the man's shaking continued. Well, this wasn't going to be any fun if he passed out.

"Calm yourself. I merely wished to bring you here so you could help celebrate my wife."

The man just stared at him blankly now, unsure what to make of that. But at least the shaking had stopped for now. As Ramsay led the man further out he could hear the people further in the courtyard. The guards should be arranging things. The children had better not be late.

Just as the large pile of wood was coming into view, Ramsay wrapped his arm back around the man. "Let me tell you something about my wife. She had this strange fascination with fire."

At that the man tensed as he peered down at his own scorched arm. "And no, before you ask she did not worship the red god. Though she could have been a red priest for all her love of the wicked thing and beauty. Anyways…"

The man patiently stood there and listened as Ramsay told him of his wife's obsession. Though it wasn't as if he had given him any other choice. At least he had the decency to fake politeness. Ramsay's eyes scanned the small crowd, catching a glimpse of the children. Good, they'd want to see this.

"And that's why," he said with excitement, "we're having a bonfire." He looked for any expression on the man's face but found none. "What? Don't you like the idea?" he scrunched his nose in mock insult.

"I-I'm sure she'd love i-it, m-m'lord" he stuttered.

A cruel grinned formed on Ramsay's face then. "Yes, she _would_ have. Too bad she's not here."

"m-mlord?" The man had caught the dangerous look in Ramsay's eye.

Ramsay handed him over to the nearest guard "You know what to do."

The closer the two got to the unlit bonfire the more the man struggled. He'd finally figured out his fate. Despite the man's size it had taken two of the guards to tie him to the post in the middle. And that's when he began screaming.

"m'lord please. I'll do anything." he begged as Ramsay picked up a torch.

"Oh good." He grinned. "Do me a favor and scream over the roar of the flames."

"nononono" he mumbled, struggling against his binding as Ramsay got closer.

"I didn't mean to I'm sorry" he whined. But he went ignored.

"It was an accident!" He screeched as Ramsay bent down to light the wood.

Ramsay stood, torch in hand, and raised an eyebrow to him. "An accident?"

The man seemed to let out a sigh of relief for gaining his attention. "Y-yes, m'lord. I never meant to hit her. I's supposed to shoot you."

"Ah well, why didn't you say so." The man gave him a nervous smile for just a moment before Ramsay continued. He stared the man straight in the eye as he dropped the torch on the kindling. The man's eyes grew wide with horror as he looked down at the flames that would soon engulf him. "It was an accident" Ramsay said callously, his demented grin saying otherwise, as he took a few steps back.

As the flames got closer the man alternated between begging and insult. "Please!-You're a monster! Help me- It's your fault your wife's dead!" And finally as the flames started to lick his feet, "No…I hope you all rot in hell!"

As the fire began to devour him, the man screamed as if his very breath would diminish the flames. It was actually quite humorous to watch. Ramsay hadn't felt this light in days and the higher the man's screams, the better he felt. The flames grew so high now that Ramsay could feel the heat against his face. There was almost a comfort in it. He was reminded of something Lucyia had told him many years ago, _There's a beauty to it. To know something you need could so quickly destroy you._

As the man's body was becoming charred, burning away flesh and bone, the screams came to a sudden halt. The man was dead, but the fire continued on. And just like that the weight of everything came crashing back down on Ramsay, threatening to knock him to his knees. He thought he knew what those words meant. But it wasn't until now that he fully understood.

Lucyia was his fire and he had been _burned._

* * *

 ** _"I_ f you think this has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention"**


End file.
